


They May Be Different Worlds But You And Me We Are Always The Same.

by AnonBeMe



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: ClexaWeek2017, F/F, Hair Pin (The Stuck Together AU) and The Roommate AU is ClexaWeek2017 material, Soulmate AU, Tumblr Prompts, alternative universe, one shots, online dating au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:33:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9487367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonBeMe/pseuds/AnonBeMe
Summary: This is a collection of my one-shots/short stories (also posted on Tumblr) which means that even though this work is never tagged as complete, each and every chapter can be read as a complete work. Chapter titles announce what AU it is and I expect some AUs will eventually have several chapters set in the same AU. (You're welcome to prompt me too).They will vary in length and as for archive warnings, I'll let you know in the beginning chapter notes if I think something is worth warning you about.





	1. Kids AU: Pretend War

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first one-shot in my Kids AU.  
> I created it to challenge myself. Kids are hard to write... they don't think like adults at all.
> 
> If you have prompts, let me know. Either here or tumblr/twitter.

“Surrender!” Lexa’s war cry rings loud and clear in the bright blue sky.  


“No!” Clarke yells back defiantly.

This is how it often goes between the two nine year olds. They’re best friends, best enemies too, and in such a constellation they often go back and forth not quite knowing _themselves_ just what they are in that particular moment.

Take this one. When Clarke came over earlier Lexa was playing with Costia and Clarke is too young to know that she’s not in fact angry with Lexa, but jealous of Costia.

So what does Clarke do? She infiltrates Lexa’s treehouse and pulls up the ladder so Lexa can’t reach her.

Now, this is where Lexa ends up the bad guy because Clarke does this all the time. Usually it’s a game they play and they’re not actually at war even though Lexa pretends to fight the invisible dragons Clarke sends after her. A completed quest means that Clarke lowers the ladder and Lexa joins her in the treehouse where they share the chocolate chip cookies Clarke’s mom has made them.

That’s not the case this time but Lexa doesn’t know that.

“It’s for your own good, Princess!” Lexa grins, she loves this game.

“Don’t call me that, _Commander_!”

Today is _not_ pretend war and Lexa doesn’t know that until she sees the boiling anger in Clarke’s eyes.

“But I thought you _wanted_ to be a warrior princess?” Lexa calls back, her eyes scrunched up in confusion.

“Not anymore,” Clarke pouts.

“Okay…” Lexa says dissapointedly, “… but, what should I call you then?”

“… nothing. Go away!” Clarke turns her back to Lexa, her arms defiantly crossed over her chest.

“But… Why?” Lexa wants to know, but Clarke is giving her the silent treatment.

“Claa-aarke!” she whines.

Still no answer.

“Fine! Be that way. I don’t want your stupid cookies anyway,” she says, head hanging low, kicking to some pebbles on the ground for good measure before turning around to go back inside.

If anything, they’re both stubborn. And proud. Lexa doesn’t mean what she said, she never means any of the things she says when she’s angry with Clarke.

Those cookies are in fact her favorite cookies and it may or may not be because Clarke always shares them with her.

So she sits in her room hating Clarke but not actually hating her while sulking because she misses her best friend.

All the while, Clarke sits in the treehouse hating Lexa but not actually hating her while sulking because she misses her best friend too.

Then Lexa’s dad interferes.

Because he knows them too well.

He finds Lexa in her room shooting daggers at the framed photo of her and Clarke above her desk. Her dad took that photo of them one day they were plying pretend war, both wearing war paint around the eyes like a mask. That was a good day.

“Hey, why are you not out playing with Clarke?” He asks.

“Clarke is stupid.” Lexa sniffles.

“Well, what did she do?” Probably nothing, he thinks.

“She doesn’t want to play,” Lexa says defeatedly.

“Okay… But she’s still up in the treehouse. Maybe she changed her mind?” He tries.

“She yelled at me and told me to leave,” she mumbles and then as if it would change anything she says, “It’s _MY_ treehouse, dad.”

“Well… Tell _her_ that,” her dad grins. He knows Lexa will never kick Clarke out of the treehouse. Because it’s Clarke.

Lexa gives him the silent treatment after that so he sighs and goes to try his luck with the other Stubborn One.

“Hi Clarke. Why are you sitting here all alone?” he asks.

“Lexa is stupid.” Clarke explains.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay…” He watches Clarke for a moment, her eyes constantly darting towards Lexa’s bedroom window.

“What if I told you that Lexa is a little sad right now?” he tries. (And if he goes to hell for playing dirty, then so be it).

“She’s sad? Why?” Clarke turns around and looks down on him, pain flooding her eyes. (Yes, he’s definitely going to hell).

“She didn’t tell me but I think she was really looking forward to play with her best friend this afternoon.” He gives Clarke his best dad smile, warm and soft.

He watches Clarke carefully for a sign that his plan is working. She bites her lip thoughtfully and then says, “Then why did she play with Costia?”

Ah. Bingo.

“Did you ask Lexa about it?” He knows for a fact that Lexa had told Costia she could only play until Clarke showed up.

“No…”

“Well, maybe you should?”

Clarke says nothing.

“Okay… Just, think about it. I’m going back inside.”

Clarke watches Lexa’s dad as he walks away and then she pouts the hardest she’s ever pouted before. She looks at Lexa’s bedroom window one more time, this time picturing her best friend being sad.

She can take her best friend being angry with her any day, but sad? Never.

So she opens the treehouse hatch and lowers the rope ladder carefully. She then proceeds to climb back down, planting her feet on the ground like sturdy pillars before running determinedly towards the direction of the house. She continues running past Lexa’s dad who grins victoriously because his genius masterplan worked, she runs up the stairs to the second floor and doesn’t stop until she stand in front of Lexa’s bedroom door.

There’s a page from Clarke’s sketchbook pinned to the door, a drawing of her treehouse and Lexa’s name written in letters made up of twisting tree branches. Clarke thinks it could’ve been better but Lexa had insisted it’s the best drawing she’d ever done and Lexa never lies so it must be true.

She gently pushes the door open until Lexa’s wide eyes stares back at her, the greenest of eyes that Clarke has ever seen, greener than the treetop above the treehouse.

Her dad was right, she _is_ sad. Clarke’s heart drops. Now she’s sad too.

“I’m sorry, you’re my best friend.” Clarke whispers.

“You’re my best friend too,”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No… Are you mad at me?” Lexa’s pouty lower lip quivers.

“No.” Clarke smiles softly. “Do want to braid my hair?” Clarke knows that Lexa loves to braid her hair.

“Okay,” Lexa says, a careful smile on her lips and all traces of sadness gone from her eyes, Clarke’s lungs fill with relief.

Lexa scoots back on her bed and pats the spot in front of her. Clarke takes a seat in front of Lexa who immediately runs her fingers through Clarke’s hair and it feels so nice that Clarke’s eyes flutter shut.

Lexa braids Clarke’s hair into a french braid, the golden strands shimmer in the sunlight from the window. It’s her favorite color, she thinks, the golden shimmer of Clarke’s hair and the blue sparkling of Clarke’s eyes. Both of them.

“Here.” Clarke holds a green hair band out for Lexa.

“Thanks.” Lexa takes it and wraps it around the tip of the braid, a grin on her lips because Clarke still has it, just like Lexa still has Clarke’s blue hair band, in fact it’s in her own braid right now.

“There,” Lexa nods solemnly as to emphasize the finality of the act before leaning her chin on Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke leans back against her with the knowledge that Lexa is okay again.

“I don’t think your cookies are stupid, they’re my favorite,” Lexa barely whispers.

“I know,” Clarke grins.


	2. Strangers By The Ocean AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The AU in which Clarke and Lexa are strangers meeting by the ocean. 
> 
> It's from Clarke's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this AU was its own work I'd have added 'non-explicit sex' as a tag. 
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~anonbeme

# Strangers By The Ocean

## Part One

You feel blind for all the things you never realized happened right in front of you, for all the things you never saw coming. 

Yet, here you are sitting on a strip of sand by the ocean not able to peel your eyes off the horizon. The golden evening colors have already morphed into a warm orange light and you're watching it in awe as if this sunset is your first, as if you don't already know that the orange will eventually pull with it a dark blue blanket over you, as if you don't know the stars will eventually twinkle on that dark blue canvas, as if you don't know the moon will rise too. 

You feel sober. Scratch that. You _are_ sober. You feel... Like you got drunk on tequila shots but somehow feels awkwardly sober despite of it. 

There's clarity. 

There's cloudy too. 

It's like you've never been more sure of anything before but at the same time, you have absolutely no clue what's going on. 

There's hurt. 

There's anger. 

There's relief, even. 

There's the lullaby of sleepy waves crawling up on shore, softly rumbling against the wet sand. 

There's the breeze sliding through your hair, cooling down your heated skin, leaving a translucent layer of salt barely there in its place. You don't feel it as much as you taste it on your lips and smell it in the air around you. 

There's the sand below you, cradling your crisscrossed legs carefully, it feels nice against your fingers as you draw stars in the grainy substance. 

There's you. 

What's left of you. 

There's sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch. 

There are all five senses present. They're all active, and here you are, with a beating heart fully functioning, but you don't feel anything at all. Scratch that. Here you are, painfully aware of your bleeding heart, and you have no band aid. 

What's the point. 

It's a stupid metaphor anyway.

The view is nice, though. Spectacular, actually. If you had a canvas and the right paints you'd immortalize _this_ , and you'd do it with a singing heart pumping stars through your veins, and you'd feel alive. 

Not numb like you are right now. 

You run your fingers through the sand to dig up stones. A few of them look like good skipping stones, so you give it a shot. You swing your arm backwards, and then forward swinging the stone towards the open sea. 

One splashy plop, no skips. 

Oh well, you were never good at this. If you were you'd probably never skip stones from a sitting position.

"It's easier standing up," a female voice interrupts your self torture session. It's a nice voice, it's soft and confident. You can appreciate a nice voice. 

You shrug, assuming she's watching you. She's probably right. 

She walks by you, shoes hanging from one hand, her jeans folded up under her knees. You can appreciate nice legs too. 

She continues forward until the waves lick her toes. She then spreads her arms out to the side causing your eyes to roam upwards, her loose button-up and long wavy hair gently dancing in the breeze. You can appreciate a nice body too. 

You go back to the spectacular masterpiece you were painting in your head. _This_ would add magnificence, this woman's flawless silhouette would be elegance against nature's forces. 

She's probably a force of nature herself. 

"Shit, this is cold," she gasps, backing out of the merciless ocean. "That sun," she shakes an accusing finger towards the culprit, "is deceitful."

You scoff. 

You know deceitful and that sun is not it. It rises, it slides across the sky, it sets. Then again, over and over again. 

She turns around and looks at you with curious eyes. "No? Look at them bright warm colors!" She throws a hand its way, " _Look_ at that inviting thing, luring you in... And what for? My toes nearly fell off," she gasps dramatically before sharing an amused smile with herself, it seems. 

If this was yesterday you'd probably smile back at her. You can appreciate a charming woman too. 

"Do you mind if I sit?" She asks.

You shrug. 

She takes a seat next to you, a half an arm's length away, respectably. "Mh..." She hums and that's all she does. 

The silence that has been comforting you all night seems to have lost its magic touch. It tickles your anxiety so you follow the urge to break it. 

"First time by the ocean?" You mean it as a joke because you've never met anyone who hasn't seen the ocean before. 

"That obvious?" She chuckles. 

"Really?" You look at her, surprised by her answer. Her eyes are still glued to the spectacular canvas in front of you. The artist in you appreciates her prominent jawline. 

She nods, as if she recognizes you're finally looking at her. 

Then she looks at you too, and you _definitely_ appreciate her green eyes. They're the brightest of forest greens with a layer of golden specks and they remind you of sunlight cutting straight lines of gold through treetops. 

Your canvas suddenly lost its importance – its grace – to _this woman, these green eyes_ , and words like spectacular and magnificent are no longer good enough. 

She smiles at you, and words like beautiful and gorgeous don't seem enough either. 

The dryness in your throat makes it hard to swallow. 

"Lexa... My name, it's my name. Lexa." She stumbles over the words, her eyes still holding yours in a tight grip. 

"Clarke," you say. 

"That's a boy's name?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Well, there's an e at the end..." You shrug. 

"Ah," she says, as if that e holds the key to unlocking the meaning of life. "There's an a... At the end... Of mine." She blushes, averting her eyes. 

You can appreciate her adorableness too. 

"Never would've guessed," you tease her, and she seems to appreciate that because a bright laughter escapes her lips, and it's sweeter than music. 

You look back onto the once spectacular canvas, the orange belt creeping away on the horizon. It's not lost on you that the subject of your hypothetical masterpiece has gone from the horizon, to the silhouette of a flawless female body against said horizon to the contours of Lexa's face, _just_ her face. It's not lost on you that a woman named Lexa who's never seen the ocean before has made you smile for the first time in... You don't remember. 

It's not lost on you that your heart flutters in your rib cage when she looks at you. 

It's not lost on you that you haven't thought about _him_ since she showed up. 

"Are you running too?" She asks you. 

"That obvious?" You say, finding her eyes again. 

"This is paradise, Clarke." She looks behind her as if checking it's still there. "The hotels, the bars, the nightlife, those who live, and you sit on the beach, alone, moping around, skipping stones like a girl. I'd say that was an easy one." 

"I don't skip stones like a girl," you huff. Her grin is something to appreciate as well. 

She looks towards the last remains of the sunset and sighs heavily. "Ex-girlfriend found someone else, I had to get away," she confesses. 

You nod, you don't offer her your apologies because you don't want hers either. 

Instead you say, "boyfriend, now ex, moved up here six months ago, haven't seen him for two, decided to surprise him with a visit and caught him in bed with someone else."

She looks at you, you look ahead at nothing in particular. 

"That was yesterday," you add. 

"I can make him disappear unnoticed," she jokes. 

"Mh... No, he's not worth it. Can you make me forget?" Her eyes pull at yours until they find each other across the half-arm's length between you. 

"If you'll let me, I can try," she promises. 

"Okay," you accept. 

She pushes herself up on her feet and dusts the sand off her jeans. Then she offers you her hand. "Come on," she says. 

You slide your hand into hers and let her pull you up, and you're quite certain that poets have written sonnets of how soft her skin is and how perfect her hand fits into yours. 

You reluctantly let go of her hand to dust the sand off your shorts. She grabs both of your pair of shoes with one hand and starts walking along the shore, as close to the water she can get without getting wet. 

You smile at the realization that you already know this about her. She likes her water warm. 

"So, where are you taking me, stranger?" 

"Well, straight ahead, I suppose." There's a tenderness to her voice, something that makes that unstable heart of yours flutter again. Suddenly you find your own hand sliding into hers and she gives it a squeeze as if to say _'I've got you'_. 

"Let's hope we don't run into any corners, then," you joke and she _snorts_ , and something tells you to entwine your fingers with hers, so you do. 

She smiles shyly into the night and you wish she'd smile shyly at you instead. 

"Okay... I have a confession to make," she says and you stop walking to look at her. 

"You're a serial killer luring me in with your charm?" 

"Depends... Is it working?" 

"Maybe."

She grins and your heart does somersaults. You take a moment to admire her eyes again, convincing yourself that you can see the stars above reflected there. 

"No, that's not my confession, sadly." She feints disappointment. 

"You want me to keep guessing?"

"Please do.”

"You skip stones like a girl too," you say cheekily. 

She raises an eyebrow at you before searching the sand around you for a skipping stone. She holds it up on front of your face. 

"This one is at least six," she says confidently. 

"I call your bluff." 

"Oh really, let's make a bet. Six or more then I win and I get..." She bites her lip thoughtfully, "to kiss you."

Interesting... 

"What happens if you lose?" 

"Mh..." She bites her lip again and it's driving you a little mad. You could totally appreciate kissing– 

"You get to carry our shoes the rest of the way," she interrupts your train of thought. 

"Where to?"

"Be patient, Clarke. First I'll woo you with my skipping stone skills, then I'll collect my prize and _then_ I'll reveal my confession." 

"Well, get skipping then," you smirk at her. 

"Alright." She places your shoes in the sand and flips the stone a few times in her hand. You take a stand next to her and watch her bite her upper lip, fully concentrating on the task ahead. "Watch and learn," she says before swinging her arm forward. 

You hold your breath while watching the stone float through the air but it's too dark now to be able to see anything except for a bit of moonlight reflecting off the waves. 

"Well, that's anticlimactic," she says.

"I definitely heard a splash, which means you lose," you say matter-of-factly. 

"Well, I definitely heard seven skips before that splash, which means I win," she grins. 

"It means," you draw out the last word as you walk up to her, close enough to feel her breath against yours. Her breathing is shallow, or maybe that's yours, it's hard to tell them apart. You hook both index fingers in the belt loops of her jeans and tug gently until your bodies meet in the middle, your lips colliding. 

Your eyes are closed but you see the stars behind your eyelids as her fingers run up your arms, up, up, up until both her hands entangled in your hair. They tug lightly, tugging you closer. 

Your lips melt against hers. 

The tip of your tongue gets a taste of her lips too, and it makes her gasp against you. It rumbles in her chest and it settles in yours. 

Your heart beats a rhythm so intense you've never felt anything like it. You don't remember the last time anyone ever made you feel this alive. 

You let your hands slide under the back of her shirt, gently scratching your fingertips along her skin. She's soft and warm and delicate, and she arches into your touch as if she's craving this as much as you. 

Kissing someone never felt this exhilarating before. 

Kissing someone never felt this familiar before. 

Kissing someone– 

You feel it a split second before she reacts, the ice cold water sucking at your feet. She stiffens against you and gasps against your lips, not from pleasure this time. 

The wave is gone as fast as it came and you're afraid it'll take her with it, you're afraid you'll lose her, so you cling to her, your hands still against her bare skin. 

"Clarke," she whispers as she brushes her knuckles against your cheek. She looks at you, follows the line of your nose, down to your lips, up again, and when she meets your eyes she looks right into your soul. 

"Yeah?" You whisper back.

"I have two confessions now," she smiles. 

"Go on," you say, leaning your forehead against hers. 

"One, _that_ was an even better kiss than I hoped it would be," she confesses breathlessly. 

You chuckle against her breath. "Okay, Casanova... And two?" 

"Two," she says and then nudges her head in the opposite direction of the water. "You see that neon sign over there?"

"Yeah?"

"That's my hotel."

"That's very presumptuous of you."

"What? No!" She blushes and you can't help the smirk that grows on your lips. "I meant to say that the walk from there to where I found you is all I've seen of this place." 

Flustered suits her. Even in the dim moonlight. Well, maybe _particularly_ in the dim moonlight. 

"I don't know where to take you," she then admits defeatedly as she pulls away from you. Your entire body frowns upon losing all physical contact, _any_ physical contact with her. 

"You don't have to take me anywhere, Lexa." 

"Are you suggesting we stand here all night?"

"Well, we could, but maybe two steps that way so the waves won't touch you again," you tease her. 

The soft smile you earn in return is something you wish you could see again, and it suddenly hits you that you're strangers to each other, that after tonight you probably won't see her ever again. It feels like a stab to the heart. 

"Can I kiss you again?" Her voice is softer than silk, and you want her to keep talking to you like that. 

"Well, it depends..."

"Oh, on what?"

You find a stone in the sand and hands it over to her. "Six or more and you win," you repeat the rule. 

She smirks as she throws the stone towards the water without breaking eye contact with you. That fire in her eyes is sexy as hell. She waits for the splash and then says, "seven again, must be my lucky number." She swallows your laughter in a kiss that steals your breath away. You can't be entirely sure, but it feels a little like she steals your heart too. 

She pulls you closer by the waist and you melt against her, into her. 

"Lexa," you breathe against her lips. 

"Mhmm?" She hums distractedly as if kissing you keeps her incapable of forming any words. 

You keep melting.

"Hotel... Now." 

She stops and looks at you. "That's _not_ presumptuous?" 

"Three, two–"

You never get to _one_ before she grabs your hand and starts running towards her hotel, pulling you along with her. 

The sand sticks to your wet feet, and your side stings because you were never a good multitasker; breathing and laughing at the same time isn't easy. None of it matters because Lexa is holding onto your hand like she never wants to let you go, and every time she looks back at you she grins as if she just won the lottery. 

The world around you is a blur and Lexa the only clear object in your view. 

You trust her to catch you if you fall. 

She leads you across the street, into a hotel building and into an elevator. She presses a button, never letting go of your hand and you catch her eyes in the elevator mirror as the doors close behind you. 

She bites her lip, and she smiles shyly at you when she realizes that you're watching her.

She looks nervous. 

You're nervous too. 

"I've never done this before," she confesses, raw and vulnerable, and you admire her honesty. 

"Me neither." 

"Clarke?"

"Lexa?"

"We forgot our shoes on the beach" she whispers, eyes wide. 

You look down to check for yourself. Your feet are covered in sand, clinging to your skin, itching between your toes. 

"Oh... Yeah... Should we go back?"

The elevator doors slide open with a ding. "No," she says, tugging you out of the elevator. It feels important and exhilarating, forbidden even, as you walk down the hall, and you wonder if this moment would've slipped through your hands if you did go back to the beach. You can't tell for sure, but maybe that's the reason behind her no. 

"Clarke?" She stops in front of a door, still holding on to your hand. 

"Lexa?" 

"Did I succeed... Did I make you forget?" Her voice is gentle, more gentle than you'd expect of a situation like this. 

This situation being a one night stand with a stranger you just met by the ocean. 

This situation being you running with someone else instead of alone, at least for one night. 

This situation being you feeling something good for the first time in a long time. 

This situation being you finally realizing that you gave up on your relationship with your ex long before you found out he cheated on you. 

This situation being you realizing that neither you nor Lexa wants this to be about rebounding your exes. 

You don't know what tomorrow will bring, but right now all you want is more of the magic Lexa seems to dazzle you with. 

Because you know you'll regret it if you were to walk away. 

Because so far this has been the best night of your life. 

Because yes, despite all odds, she did succeed. 

"Forget what?" You say, allowing a subtle smirk onto your lips. 

"I'll take that as a yes," she says, grinning proudly as she unlocks the door. 

You always pictured hotel hookups a little dirty. Being a stranger far away from home is the perfect opportunity to let your alter ego loose, allowing yourself to explore some of your wild fantasies that doesn't fit into your otherwise boring, normal life. If it's terrible you can always say _'what happens in this hotel room stays in this hotel room'_ and never have to see that person again. 

You always pictured the hotel door desperately being slammed shut, the back of it being the perfect platform to initiate whatever shenanigans you've been conjuring up in your secretly dirty mind. 

You always pictured coming halfway undone before dropping any piece of clothing and you always pictured being halfway naked before even getting to the bed. 

You always pictured these hotel rooms as penthouse apartments on the top floor, with big panorama windows with a stunning view over your surroundings. It seems like the perfect spot for a second round of sin, naked bodies wrecking each other apart, sweat drenched skin against cold glass, the idea of someone being able to see you through it bringing out the beast in you. 

When Lexa gently closes the door behind you, you know that this experience will be something else entirely.

When she looks at you with careful eyes, her lower lip trembling under your gaze, you know that it will exceed any expectations you may or may not have had. 

When her index finger lifts your chin, your body is free falling, her fingertip the only thing holding you up, completely at her mercy. You hold your breath until she dips her head to capture your lips. 

It's _nothing_ like sin. 

If anything, it's a miracle. It awakens your heart, it shoots oxygen into your lungs and life into your veins.

The way she kisses you, slow, intense, you don't need a plan or any fantasies to outlive. This is enough. This is more than enough and _not enough_ at the same time. You're entirely hers to do whatever she wants with as long as she keeps kissing you like that. 

It's not desperate. 

She takes her time. 

She breaks the kiss and leans her forehead against yours as if she needs the physical contact to stay where she is, to make sure _you_ stay where you are. 

"I... Uh... Please don't laugh at me, okay?" 

"No promises," you tease. 

"Clarke," she whines. 

"Lexa," you imitate her.

She looks at you with pleading eyes and you can't help the chuckle that escapes your lips. "Look," you say, "you tell me anything and I may or may not laugh at you. I don't care as long as you promise to kiss me like that again."

You bite your lip as to prove a point and her eyes drop to your lips. "Okay," she sighs before grabbing your hand, pulling you into the bathroom. 

"Let me guess, you want filthy bathroom sex and you're embarrassed to admit it?" You joke, getting a feeling that you know her well enough to know that she's not the type. 

"No!" She says, maybe a little too fast, "I mean... I'm not opposed to it, but that's not it," she blushes and yeah, you laugh. Just a little.

"You promised," she reminds you. 

"I promised you could kiss me like that again," you elaborate. 

"Okay..." She guides you towards the bathtub and gestures for you to take a seat on the edge, feet into the bathtub. She takes a seat next to you and turns on the shower head. 

"Come on come on come on," she rants under her breath as she holds her fingertips against the stream of water. You assume she's waiting for it to be warm enough for her liking. 

"Okay," she says as she begins to wash off the sand from her feet and yeah, you laugh again. 

"Clarke," she scolds you. 

"I'm sorry, you're worried I'll laugh at you because you need to wash off the sand?"

"Well, you're laughing at me right now," she argues.

It's true, you are. Not because she needs to wash the sand off, though, but because she's making it such a big deal. It's... Adorable. 

She pouts and it makes you laugh even harder until your laughter becomes you screaming her name instead. 

Because she just splashed you with the shower head. 

You look at her and she grins like an idiot. "Oops, sorry, I missed," she says as she continues to wash the sand off your feet too. 

"You did not just do that!” 

"I did," she says, puffing her chest and you realize that every new thing this girl does seems to make you want to kiss her even more. 

"My clothes are wet now." You pout dramatically. "Now what?" 

"Take it off," she says cockily as she turns off the shower head again. 

You raise an eyebrow at her, and she shrugs nonchalantly, as if it's the only normal thing to do in this situation. 

Two can play this game, so you get out of the bathtub. You slowly peel your shirt over your head and throws it at her. It hits her chest and falls to the ground. She's too busy staring at your shirtless torso, mouth agape and by the looks of it, not breathing. You unbutton your jeans, but before you get to the zipper, she's out of the bathtub too, clumsily finding her balance as she falls into your lips. 

You're so done. Lexa's kisses dissolves any self control you may still have left. 

Her hands slide over the skin on your back and leave goosebumps in their trail. She lifts you up, her hands on the back of your thighs, your legs naturally wrapping around her waist. It feels effortless when she carries you out of the bathroom and towards her bed. 

You're free falling again. This time you cling to her because you want her to fall with you. Sucking on her lower lip, entangling your fingers in her hair, your legs securing their hold around her waist you let her dip you onto the bed. 

The sheets feel soft against your back, and she chuckles against your lips when you sigh.

"You okay?" She asks. 

"Kiss me," you demand. 

So she does. 

She teases your lips never letting you fully capture hers and it drives you mad. She nips along your jawline, explores the spot behind your ear you didn't know was _so sensitive_. She runs her teeth against your neck, and you can't believe the girl who was afraid you'd laugh at her is _so confident_. 

You always had a thing for enigmas. 

"Lexa... Take it off." You tug on the collar of her shirt helplessly. She chuckles against the crook of your neck. 

"Okay, but you need to release me," she says, a hand squeezing your thigh.

You let her straighten up onto her knees, she pulls the shirt over her head without even bothering with the buttons. 

She proceeds to unzip her jeans and you watch her as she stands up to pull them off. You watch her pull off your pants too. You watch her stand by the foot end of the bed, in her black boy shorts, a black lacy bra. You watch her unsnap it and it's one of the most graceful things you've ever witnessed as it falls onto the floor. 

You watch her watch you. 

"Breathe, Clarke," she smirks. 

"I don't think I can," you confess. There are a lot of things you can't do right now. _Not stare_ being one of them. Because she's got a surprisingly well trained body, and you _definitely_ appreciate that. 

"I want to draw you," you whisper. 

"You're an artist?" She asks. 

"Yes. No... It's a hobby." 

"Huh..." She scrunches her eyes half shut clearly measuring you up. "I don't think I would've guessed."

"What, you don't think me half naked in your hotel room screams artist?" 

"I've never been with an artist before, I don't know how one looks like half naked," she says, climbing onto the bed again to straddle your waist. 

You sit up to snap off your own bra. You fling it off to some unknown destination as you lean up for a kiss. You wrap your arms around her torso and pull her closer wanting to feel as much of her skin against yours. 

"How about you?" Now she knows something about you, you kind of want to know something about her too. 

"What about me?" She says between stolen kisses. 

"What's your hobby?"

"Soccer."

"That's so cliché."

"I know," she grins. She guides your hands to her chest and pushes her torso against them. She keeps pushing until the sheets meet your back again. 

There are a million things you want to ask her. What does she like to eat for breakfast, does she have siblings, any pets, what's her favorite color, if she had a million dollars what would she use it for, what does she dream about accomplishing... 

 

You want her to never stop kissing you. 

There are a million things you're afraid to ask her. Where is she from, if you'd met under different circumstances would she say yes if you asked her on a date, would she maybe want to exchange numbers, would she maybe want to meet you again, what happens tomorrow when you go back home... Will she forget you... 

You want her to never stop touching you. 

Her fingertips are dancing along your skin, and it already feels like something she's done a million times before. She already knows it drives you mad when she leaves kisses against your hip bone, and that you forget to breathe when she trails fingers up the inside of your thigh. 

You already know she loves to nip at the skin below your navel, that she, too, has a weak spot that drives her mad just between her collarbones. 

"Clarke?" She whispers against your navel. She sounds vulnerable, and you feel an urge to pull her into a hug, to comfort her. 

"Yeah?"

"Is it okay to admit that I don't want tonight to end?" 

You cup her cheek to make her look up at you. You nod as you pull her back up for another kiss. 

This one is different from the others. It's like when you first met her eyes on the beach and she set a new standard for spectacular things. 

This kiss feels like gravity pulling at you. 

It feels like both of you stopped running, subconsciously deciding you both want to stay put, right here. 

It feels like worlds colliding. 

Explosive. 

Earth shattering. 

Lives are destroyed, new ones begin. 

Collapsing against Lexa, sweaty and exhausted feels like a new beginning. Like something deep inside of you knows your life has changed its course and there's no going back. 

It breaks your heart, because you're going home tomorrow. 

You're torn between this being the greatest night of your life and wishing you'd never had a taste of it to begin with, because you're not sure you're strong enough to let go of something like this. 

You're not sure you want to. 

Lexa sighs next you. It sounds as heavy as the weight of your thoughts. She turns off the tiny lamp on the bed side table and then snuggles into the crook of your neck. You pull the sheets over the both of you, tugging her in closer. 

"Will you stay?" She whispers.

"Of course," you tell her. The truth is you never considered leaving. 

"I don't want to fall asleep," she admits. 

"Then talk to me instead." _(I want to stay awake too)._

"About what?"

"Whatever you want to talk about." _(You. Tell me about you)._

"I'm going back home tomorrow." She sounds as crestfallen about this as you are. 

"Me too."

"I don't want to"

"Me neither."

Lexa's arm tightens around your waist and you run your fingers through her hair. 

"I want to ask you something but I'm afraid of what the answer might be," she whispers. 

"Me too."

She places her hand on your chest, above your heart, and you're not even ashamed of the fast thudding you know she can feel. 

"That's what you do to me," you tell her.

She presses her lips against your heart and says, "You do that to me too."

"Lexa?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to ask you something and you're allowed to not answer, okay?" 

"Okay."

"Where do you live?"

"Polis," she says. 

"What? You're on the flight to Polis tomorrow?"

"Yes?" Lexa repositions herself onto her elbow to look at you. 

"Me too." You have absolutely no control of the grin that grows on your lips. 

"You're going to Polis? You _live_ in Polis?" Lexa's voice is laced with the kind of hope that is blooming in your heart right now. Maybe she wishes this is more than a one time thing too. 

"I need to catch a train from Polis, I live in Arkadia." That means you and Lexa lives a car ride apart, about forty-five minutes, actually, and about an hour by train. 

"Arkadia?"

"Yes."

"Clarke, don't joke about this."

"I'm not. I live in Arkadia."

"You promise?"

"I promise!" 

"So... If I were to ask you on a date sometime, would you say yes?"

"I would."

"Good to know, I'll consider it," she says. It's too dark to see, but you can hear she's smirking. 

"I'll make you consider alright" you say, a playful threat, as you push her onto her back. You straddle her and tickle her below her ribs, and she part screams part laughs as she tries to fight you off. 

"Clarke... Clarke, stop, I can't breathe!" She squirms underneath you and you release your grip. 

You seek both her hands in the dark and lift them up to press a soft kiss into each palm. 

"Thank you," you whisper against her soft skin. 

"For what?" She's still catching her breath. 

"For finding me on the beach."

She straightens up to steal a kiss. "Thank you for skipping stones like a girl," she murmurs against your lips. 

"I did not!" 

"You so did," she chuckles. 

"Shut up and kiss me." 

"Yes, please." 

When Lexa kisses you time stands still. Scratch that. When Lexa kisses you _like this, all consuming,_ seconds become minutes and minutes turn to hours and you don't even notice. 

"I can't feel my legs," she whines as she lays down behind you, pulling you closer. Her kisses grow lazy against your spine and her hand finds rest on your hip.

You can't feel your legs either. Hours of miracle sin aches in your body and you didn't even need a panorama view for that. 

The thought makes you chuckle and her lazy kisses tiptoe onto your shoulder. 

"What's so funny?" 

"Nothing... I uh... Yeah, I can't feel my legs either." 

"Good," she says. 

"Good?" 

"It means you're not going anywhere."

She pulls you in closer and snuggles against your shoulder. 

You feel safe. 

"Lexa?" You whisper. 

"Mh?" She hums, sleep still present in her voice. 

"Do you think our shoes are still on the beach?"

"I kind of hope they're not." She sighs. 

"What? Why?"

"I mean... Imagine having to travel home without shoes on... If that's not a grand story for our future grandchildren, I don't know what is."

You're not entirely sure if she's joking or being serious, but when your heart does somersaults in your ribcage it somehow doesn't matter at all.

Maybe losing your shoes doesn't sound so bad. 

You found Lexa instead.

* * *

Part two: [click right here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9487367/chapters/26408460)


	3. The Roommate AU (prompt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The AU in which Clarke and Lexa have been best friends most of their lives and dated some during high school. Clarke leaves for art school and two years later Lexa moves to the city and Clarke has an available room... and a casual fling with someone else... 
> 
> Or
> 
> The Roomate AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _prompt ask : clarke and lexa were best friends as kids. in high school they dated on and off. college came and clarke went overseas to art school in new york city. lexa and her stayed in contact but they decided it was better to just be friends. then lexa moves to the city and doesnt know anyone. clarke just so happens to need a roommate so lexa is it. clarke is casually dating this girl niylah and it drives lexa crazy because they are finally in the same place again. one day after clarke gets back from a date, lexa heatedly kisses her and says she always loved her. then lots and lots of hot sex lovemaking to follow. pwease_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _______
> 
> So... I got this prompt and it has multichapter potential but since I already have Lovers In A Park going (and a new one on the way) I want to keep it a one-shot. The "lots and lots of hot sex lovemaking" has been... I dunno... tweaked a little? so that it fits into whatever story the prompt created in my head.  
> So, dear awesome reader of mine who sent me this prompt, thank you thank you thank you for the challenge. I sincerely hope you like it <3
> 
> Also, I dubbed this The Roommate AU. 
> 
> ~anonbeme

You're a little nervous. 

You're moving to the city and you're nervous because you haven't seen Clarke in two years. She's been your best friend since kindergarten, you even dated... casually.... sort of... for a while in high school and you're nervous because you haven't seen her in two years and you don't know what to expect. 

You called her about a month ago to tell her about the internship in Polis City and you could hear that bright smile of hers through the phone. She called you two weeks later to tell you her roommate moved out and if you were still looking for a place to stay, she had a room available. 

You accepted. 

Of course you did. 

You can't imagine a better roommate than your best friend since kindergarten. Your rock. Your sun. 

You stand outside the front door to Clarke's apartment, well, now Clarke's and _your_ apartment, a duffel bag in one hand and a small brown paper bag in the other. You use the knuckles on the latter to knock on the door, biting your lip nervously. 

You haven't seen Clarke in _two years_. 

The door swings open and Clarke's smile lights up the hallway. 

"Hi Cl-"

"Lexa!" She interrupts your greeting by tackling you in a hug, her arms in a tight grip around your neck, and you drop your duffel bag on the floor to better hug her back. You're taller than her and you know she's on her tiptoes to be able to reach you like this, so you wrap your free arm around her waist tightening just enough to support her weight.

She still uses that honey scented shampoo, it seems. 

She still feels warm and familiar against your body. 

(She still makes your heart race). 

She elegantly slides out of your embrace and smiles at you. "I've missed you," she says. 

"I can tell. Is that my high school jersey?" You throw in one of those smirky smiles you tend to give all the girls, without even considering that Clarke isn't one of them. She's your best friend. Your roommate. Your best friend who is wearing your high school soccer jersey with WOODS and the number 13 on the back, the jersey you gave her the day she moved to Polis City to have something to remember you by. 

"Uh, yeah." She blushes and you're not sure why. 

"I've missed you too, Clarke." 

"Well, come on in, I'll show you your room."

"This is for you," you hold out the brown paper bag for her. 

Her eyes widen in surprise, "You didn't... Is it?" She reaches for the bag and you give it to her, loving every bit of excitement that awakens on her face. She opens the paper bag and squeals. "Thank you thank you thank you," she chants as she sniffs the bag. It's chocolate muffins from the local coffee shop in your home town. They're Clarke's favorite, a trick up your sleeve for all the times Clarke needed a little cheering up. 

//

Your room is small but it has a bed and a tiny desk and a closet and that's all you really need. Clarke orders pizza for your first night in and decides it's best eaten in front of the TV. You stay up late _not_ watching TV at all while catching up on the past two years. She talks about college and the art exhibition coming up in two months and how excited she is about finally being able to show the world her art. You tell her about the internship, that it's supposed to give you the experience needed for when your dad will need you on the board in his company. She asks if it's what you want to do, take over the business and you tell her that yes, it is, the company's vision is to create a better world for our children and that's something of a privilege to be a part of. 

Clarke tells you the hardest thing about moving here was leaving you behind and you tell her the hardest decision you ever made was letting her go and that the easiest decision you ever made was moving here. 

//

On your first morning in your new apartment you wake up on the couch, Clarke snuggled up to you and you let yourself consider the possibility that maybe it's not too late. 

//

On your second morning in your new apartment a blonde woman exits Clarke's bedroom, barely clothed. She introduces herself as Niylah and tells you she's heard much about you. You haven't heard a single thing about her but you don't tell her that. Instead you nod a greeting suddenly finding the bowl of cereal in front of you exceptionally interesting to stare at. 

//

It's been two weeks since you moved in and Clarke insists you join her and Niylah, they're going out dancing and _'it would be good for you to take a night off from all the hard work you do'_. You tell her no thank you, you just want a quiet night at home. What you _really_ need is an evening on the couch without Clarke and Niylah in your hair. 

You're not home when they return because the sight of them slipping into Clarke's room together makes your stomach turn. You're not home when they wake up either. You spend the night walking aimlessly around Polis City, getting only a few hours of sleep on the couch at the office. When you do return Niylah is gone and Clarke is mad at you for some reason. 

She doesn't greet you like she usually does. She ignores you and it hurts _even though_ you're not even trying to get her attention. It hurts because Clarke is hurting. It hurts because you can't fix it. 

//

"Do you have a problem with Niylah being here?" She slams the door shut behind her and you flinch by the noise. She walks up to you, you sitting on the couch, her taking a stand not unlike a predator in front of you. Clarke was never afraid of confrontation. You? You hate it. Especially one that involves Clarke because she's the one thing that makes you weak which means you've lost this battle beforehand. 

"No." 

"It seems like it."

"I don't."

"Then what is it, Lexa? I miss my best friend and I don't know how to fix this if you don't tell me what I did."

You hear her shaky breath and you make the mistake of looking at her. She's crying, she's _actually_ crying. You promised to never hurt her and that's what you're doing right now. 

"Lexa," she pleads.

"Are you happy?" She looks taken aback by your question. 

"What? Yeah... I'm happy..." She says, confusion lingering on her lips. 

"Then I have no problem at all," you tell her returning to your book. 

"Lexa." That's her angry voice. 

"Clarke," you sigh. "Please... Don't..."

"Don't what?" She snatches the book out of your hands and you meet her eyes, wild like a tornado. That's furious Clarke. _God_ , you love furious Clarke. 

"Don't make this harder than it already is," you plead, for the first time allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of her. It's not on purpose, it's the effect she has on you. 

"What does that mean, Lexa?"

"It means... Nothing, Clarke, okay? It means nothing. It's... You're happy and that's all I ever wanted for you. Please, just let it go." You avert your eyes, staring at your hands in your lap. You feel helpless under her stare.

"Lexa, talk to me." Her voice turns soft. That's the Clarke that always looks out for you. 

"You left." You confess and you hate yourself for not being able to keep your mouth shut. 

"Lex--"

"What do you want from me, Clarke?" 

"I want my best friend back," she says and it feels like a slap in the face. "Tell me what to do..."

"Just be you." You tell her. "Be you and be happy." You get up from the couch rejecting the hand she places on your forearm. For every step you take towards your bedroom another piece of your heart breaks off. 

"Why does it feel like goodbye again?" She says, barely a whisper. 

"Do you want it to be?" You stop in your tracks keeping your back to her. 

"No," she says. "I didn't want it then either."

You listen to her voice coming closer, her footsteps too. Her arms wrap around your waist and she pulls herself against your back. You stand numb and helpless letting her cling to you because no matter how much it breaks your heart you can't ever leave her. You can let her go but you can't leave her. 

"Stay." she whispers. 

A sob escapes your lips and you hold your breath hoping she didn't hear it. But when she spins your useless body around you know she did. She cups your cheeks and you can't do anything but let her hold you. She thumbs the tears away and you desperately try to keep your eyes shut because you're not sure you'll be able contain yourself if you could see the concern you know lies in her eyes. It's bad enough you can hear it in her voice. 

"Lex, talk to me." 

You shake your head weakly. 

"Hey, look at me."

Your traitorous eyelids slide open and there they are, your favorite blue eyes. They fall to your lips, only for a split second, but it's enough for you to notice and you were never able to resist it, you aren't able to this time either. 

So you lean in. 

She doesn't pull back so you close the distance capturing her lips for the first time in more than two years. Her hands tighten their grip on your cheeks, one sliding to the nape of your neck. It feels familiar because it is. When your hands slide down her back you're also not surprised that she responds by arching into you. It's one of many things that Clarke does that drives you mad. It's muscle memory when she gently bites your bottom lip and your hands move to the back of her upper thighs to lift her up, her legs locking around your waist and her fingers tugging at your hair. 

It feels like coming home.

You carry her towards your bedroom not letting go of her lips for one second afraid the distance between your lips, no matter how small, will leave way for any doubt to grow if you did. Not just in your mind but hers too. The door is closed and your hands are occupied holding her up so you pin her against it instead. She gasps by the impact, her breath hot on your lips, and she tugs harder on your hair as she leans her head backwards. The spot right below Clarke's earlobe was always a favorite of yours. Sliding your tongue up her neck, sucking at *that spot* always makes her moan uncontrollably. You can feel the vibrations of her throat against your lips and it's familiar too but somehow it feels like a first time. 

"Oh God..." She gasps. 

_"thedoor"_ You mumble, coherency not easy to achieve in this moment. 

"What?" Barely a word either. 

"The door, Clarke, the door." You finally get the words through. 

She fumbles for the doorknob behind her and you stumble against the door as it slides open, clumsily supporting Clarke's weight as you move towards your bed. You chase her lips all the way but you never catch them. As you hit the bed you lock eyes with her, your favorite blue eyes. 

This moment is frozen in time. You on top of her, her legs still clinging to your waist, and you think this is it. This is when she'll stop you and say it's a bad idea, that you're her best friend, _just_ her best friend. 

But she doesn't. 

She starts tugging at your shirt and you help her slide it over your head. She rushes to unclasp your bra as you sling the shirt off over your shoulder. You can't keep up with her, she's fumbling with the button on your jeans and before you know it she has you pinned against the sheets straddling your waist. 

You watch her stare at the skin below your right breast. You never told her but you had her eternity symbol tattooed onto your body, the symbol _she_ designed. She runs her index finger over it, mapping the eight-figured curve and she lingers where you know the curve fades away. 

_'Nothing lasts forever'_. 

In the back of your mind you hear her voice just as clear as that day. She left. You let her go. You agreed with her because you'd rather keep her a friend than lose her entirely. 

"Lex..." she whispers. You don't know what the tone in her voice implies so you hold your breath. You don't want her to stop but more so you don't want her to regret this tomorrow, so you let her take the next step. 

She falls into you, her hands still on your ribcage, her body heavy on top of you, her lips hard against yours. You run your hands up her thighs, squeezing her ass before continuing up under her shirt. She runs her nails down your sides, not hard enough to leave marks but you feel the desire still. 

This Clarke is new to you. She's always been intense, but more the emotional kind than the physical kind. 

She bites down on your lower lip, again not hard enough to leave a mark but you feel the pain still. 

You pull at her shirt, she lifts herself off of you to slide it off, continueing to pull off your jeans, her own too. You watch her stand by the foot end of the bed as she reaches behind her to snap off her own bra. It falls to the floor and that's when you see it. She has the same tattoo only its placed below her collarbone instead. The discovery burns a hole in you heart and you're not sure why. 

She slides off her panties and leaves kisses up your legs before sliding off yours too. She looks up at you, a storm raging in her eyes, a wild hurricane sucking you in, hurling you around and she washes over you like twenty feet waves crashing against the shore until your entire body trembles from the impact. 

Clarke has always been untamable, an unstoppable force of nature, and that's why you love her. 

She collapses on top of you, drenched in sweat and crying out euphoria. The tip of your fingers tethered to her pulse as you both catch your breath. 

//

You don't remember falling asleep but when you do wake up she's gone. You bury your face in the pillow that now smells of Clarke's honey shampoo convincing yourself it's going to be okay come tomorrow. 

//

You don't know for how long you've slept, but it's dark outside when you wake up. Clarke crawls back into your bed, cold and shaking. She snuggles up to you from behind burying her nose in your hair, her arm clinging to your waist. 

Her breath is shallow and wobbly and this is familiar too, she only ever breathes this rhythm when she's been crying. 

"I ended things with Niylah." She whispers.

You try to twist around to face her but she won't let you.

"If I promise to never leave again do you promise to stay?" She whispers, her voice heartbroken and raw. 

"Always."

"I love you."

"I love you too."


	4. Don't Kiss Me (Unless You Mean It)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Internet Dating AU.
> 
> OR the AU in which Clarke is trying out the online dating thing and Lexa's sister decides it's time for Lexa to go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt:_   
>  _Internet dating. One has signed up and the other is signed up unknown to them via friends. So when they go on their first date. One of them is tricked into it by meddling friends and doesn't even realise it's a date till it's too late._
> 
> It's 8k words... I'm not sure it applies for a one-shot, nevertheless, here you go.  
> Also, I tweaked the details a little. The meddling friend is a sister, for instance.
> 
> As always, enjoy!  
> ~anonbeme

### ONE.

It's not that Clarke is terrible at picking up people at bars, in fact she's kind of good at it. She knows that most men and women find her attractive and she knows when to talk and when to listen. She knows when to smile timidly and when to bite her lip seductively.

She knows her way around this game.

The thing is, she's really _really_ tired of it, the one night stands, the regret, the walk of shame, she's even tired of the waiting around for a phone call that never comes. Yeah, it happens, even for Clarke.

Which is why Clarke is currently signing up on an online dating site. Maybe it'll be easier to find someone more compatible this way, she thinks. She'll be able to get to know them before deciding to meet with them. It could work.

It's worth a try, at least.

She picks a profile photo that shows her bright smile, one where the blue in her eyes stands out. She hopes it gives the impression that she's a genuine person with all the right intentions, whatever they may be. She keeps the description short and light hoping it's enough to make people want to contact her. Then she turns off her laptop with a nervous sigh before going to bed, she'll have a look at what the site can offer tomorrow.

//

It's not that Lexa likes being alone. It's just that it's so much easier. She's a hardworking lawyer at one of the biggest companies in the country, and the women she's tried dating the past couple of years eventually ended things because _"It's like you're married to your job, it's like I'm in the way"_. Lexa never disagrees. To be successful one must focus solely on the task ahead. Relationships are a distraction that Lexa simply cannot afford.

Eventually, she decided it was easier to just be alone and one night stands was never her thing either.

"So, sis, how's life?" Anya asks as Lexa takes a seat across from her.

"Busy as always," Lexa replies, looking over the menu. Not that she needs to because they have lunch together every Thursday, always at the same cafe and Lexa always picks the same dish, a Caesar salad. "You?"

"You know, living life," Anya smirks and Lexa doesn't know why, so she ignores it. "Anything new on the... ladies front?"

_Here we go._

"No, you know I don't have the time." Lexa sighs, focusing a bit harder on reading the description of that Caesar salad she very well knows the content of.

"It's called prioritizing, Lex," Anya says.

"And I'm prioritizing my career," Lexa deadpans.

"You know, before Costia you never had a problem prio--"

"Anya!" Lexa threatens.

"I'm just saying... Not everyone is like her, but you need to put yourself out there if--"

"Anya, please, let it go. Can we just order and talk about how mom and dad are doing or something?" Lexa sighs tiredly.

The thing is, Anya always pesters her with this subject. Lexa is almost thirty and she knows very well that if she's ever going to start a family, she needs to start doing something about it. Soon. She once thought that Costia would be the one, but then she left because she wanted a different life, one that didn't include Lexa, one that broke Lexa's heart into a zillion unrecognizable pieces, one that drove her to dive into the depths of law school, one that eventually made her one of the most recognized environmental lawyers in the country.

Nothing is ever so bad that it's not good for something, right?

She hates to admit it, but Anya is right. She wasn't always like this. Deep down inside she knows the amount of hours she puts into her career is more than what's necessary to keep her status, but more so it's a perfect cover to hide behind. At some point she even started to believe that herself, that it worked, that is.

"Fine," Anya says and Lexa knows she'll only let it go until next Thursday lunch.

//

Clarke gets comfortable on the couch after a tiring shift at the hospital. She powers up her laptop and plomps her feet onto the coffee table next to the takeout boxes she bought on the way home. It's time to check out that online dating site.

There are three messages waiting for her in her inbox. She clicks on the first, it's from someone named _Heda_ , whatever that means.

 **From Heda**  
_Hey SkyPrincess._  
_I suddenly find myself wondering about the person behind those gorgeous eyes. Tell me something about yourself that's not in your profile?_

 _Until next time,_  
_Heda._

 

Clarke appreciates that this Heda person compliments her eyes _and_ shows interest in her in a level deeper than what her profile provides so she clicks on the name hoping she feels the same the other way around.

Clarke is not prepared.

Heda is a woman living in the same area as Clarke, a lawyer working for a healthy planet for future generations and she likes to keep in shape by going for a run every morning. The profile doesn't say much else but _dear lord_ does she have a set of gorgeous eyes herself, the deepest green Clarke has ever seen. Clarke is _intrigued_. She can't deny that she'd definitely try to talk her up if she saw her sitting alone in a bar, so yeah, Clarke tries her luck with a reply.

 

 **To Heda**  
_Hey yourself :)_  
_What my profile doesn't tell you is that my eyes aren't nearly as gorgeous as yours and that I'm a much better conversationalist face to face, much less awkward._  
_Maybe you'd like to share something back?_

_SkyPrincess._

 

Clarke contemplates whether her reply is too awkward but sends it anyway. Chances of a perfect match in the first try are highly unlikely, at least she'll learn from her mistakes.

The other two messages in her inbox are young men sending her pictures of their naked torso and Clarke deletes those without even considering responding.

She places the laptop on the couch next to her and turns on the TV with every intention of a quiet evening before going to bed early.

//

 **From Heda**  
_What my profile doesn't tell you is that I think I need to see that conversationalist in person, SkyPrincess. Would it be too blunt of me to ask if you're available for a drink next week?_

_Heda._

 

Clarke grins as she types out her answer.

 

 **To Heda**  
_It would, yeah, but I'm a straightforward girl, so how does Thursday sound?_

_SkyPrincess._

 

 **From Heda**  
_Thursday sounds perfect. Say 8pm? Do you know Grounders Bar?_

_Heda._

 

 **To Heda**  
_Yes, I do._  
_I guess it's a date._

_SkyPrincess._

 

 **From Heda**  
_Who's the blunt one now ;)_  
_I'll make sure to be there before you, at the bar._

_Heda._

 

 **To Heda**  
_I'm not denying it, Heda ;)_  
_When I do find you at the bar, maybe you can tell me the meaning behind that name._

_Clarke._

 

 **From Heda**  
_Maybe ;)_  
_See you Thursday, Clarke._

_Lexa._

//

Lexa has a routine. She wakes up at 6am and goes for a five mile morning run along the river bank. She stretches by the stone steps outside her apartment complex before taking a quick shower. She gets dressed, her outfit almost always the same, a clean crisp white shirt and dark suit pants. Sometimes, she wears a matching suit jacket, or a vest, it's usually when she needs to send off a vibe of dominance. Her line of business is a man's world and she'll be damned if that will ever hold her back. So she does what needs to be done in order to stay successful and if a suit jacket, hair in a tight bun and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses does the trick, well, by all means, that's the easy part.

Lexa eats yoghurt with fresh berries for breakfast every morning and she leaves her apartment at 7:40am only stopping at the coffee shop on the corner to get a cup of hot steaming black coffee to go.

She enters the door to her office building at 8am and she leaves those same doors again at 5pm. She goes home, sometimes she cooks, sometimes she brings food back home. Most nights she opens a case folder for a few hours before going to bed.

She usually takes her half hour lunch break in peace and quiet on the roof of her office building, with a killer view over the city.

Her phone vibrates in her front pocket. She wipes her hands in a paper napkin before pulling it out.

 **Anya:**  
_Hey sis, lunch on Thursday... Can we make it an evening drink at 7:30pm? Last minute staff meeting..._

Lexa sighs. She could, but it'll ruin her routine.

 **Lexa:**  
_We could push lunch a few hours?_

 **Anya:**  
_Can't. I'm swamped all afternoon._

 **Lexa:**  
_Okay then. 7:30pm... Grounders?_

 **Anya:**  
_You're reading my mind_

//

Grounders Bar is of the homey kind not unlike an Irish pub with dimmed lighting and pool tables and dart. Lexa and Anya are seated by the bar, both enjoying a beer. In Lexa's line of work, people usually sip on whiskey and wine from places that are impossible to pronounce, and usually the expensive kind too. Lexa appreciates a good beer, though. Going for a drink with Anya is the only chance she ever gets to drink beer. Unless she pops open a bottle at home, which does happen once in a while, but it's never the same as being in her sister's company.

They talk about work and Lexa's new clients and Anya's teaching job at the university. They talk about their parents and their annual summer party next month. They talk about Anya's husband Roan and Lexa's four year old nephew, Aden.

They _don't_ talk about Lexa's lack of a lady friend and while Lexa appreciates that, she also finds it a bit odd that Anya doesn't even mention it. It's kind of her thing, pestering Lexa on the matter.

Anya looks at her watch and excuses herself to use the bathroom and Lexa uses the wait to check up on a few work mails on her phone.

"Lexa?"

Lexa looks up from her phone towards the unfamiliar voice saying her name. She blinks a few times as she meets the brightest of blue eyes she's ever seen. In front of her stands a gorgeous blonde woman she's never seen before.

"Uh, yes?" Lexa racks her brain from any recognition. Surely she'd have remembered meeting a woman of this caliber.

"I'm Clarke, it's nice to finally meet you," the woman says, holding out her hand to formally greet her.

"Uh, it's... nice to meet you too... Clarke." If anything, Lexa is polite, so she accepts Clarke's handshake and if that's not the softest skin she's ever had the pleasure of feeling against her own, then she doesn't know what is.

Clarke finds Lexa's behavior a bit odd but figures she's probably nervous. Really, she's amazed that she isn't a flustered mess herself. Those eyes are so much greener in person, Clarke is nearly drowning in them.

"So, how about the story behind Heda?" Clarke gives her that bright smile she knows the flustered women likes.

"Uh.. What? How do you kn--" Out of the corner of her eye Lexa sees Anya sneak from the bathroom and out the back door. Lexa is a smart woman and she knows her sister well enough to know that this is a setup.

_Anya, you didn't!_

Anya might not be alive come Monday.

"Clarke? Uh, please don't take this the wrong way... But how do you know me?" Lexa watches confusion wash over Clarke's face and she kind of wishes she'd go back to smiling. It suits her.

"The online dating site? I'm SkyPrincess..." Clarke says, not understanding what on earth is going on.

Lexa pinches the bridge of her nose, clenching her jaw. Yeah, she knows _exactly_ what Anya did. She probably didn't even have a staff meeting today, no, Lexa is sure she didn't.

"Clarke, I think there's been a misunderstanding, well I _know_ there's been one, you see--" Lexa meets Clarke's eyes again and she forgets what she wanted to say. Clarke looks a little hurt and for some reason it breaks Lexa's heart.

"Okay, first let's get you a drink, I get the feeling you've been promised one, and then I'll tell you what I think is going on. How does that sound?" Lexa says and Clarke replies with a careful "uh, okay..."

Lexa waves the bartender over and Clarke surprises her by ordering the same beer as her, it's a local brand very few know of.

"One question?" Clarke says, taking her first sip and Lexa awaits for her to continue. "You _are_ Lexa?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Clarke bites her lip thoughtfully and Lexa catches herself staring at them, they look really soft. "Heda?"

"That's me too." Lexa sighs and when Clarke's confusion grows, Lexa continues. "My sister invited me here, in fact, she sat on this very seat not ten minutes ago." Lexa gestures to Clarke's seat. "I just caught her sneaking out the back door and I have a feeling she's the one you've been communicating with."

"Oh..."

"Yeah..." Lexa takes a swig of her beer.

"She set you up." Clarke concludes.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Clarke. You seem like a nice person, I just... I don't date." Lexa says and Clarke thinks she sees a flash of pain in Lexa's eyes, she wonders what that's about.

"Don't be, it's not your fault." Clarke fidges with the label on her bottle. "I won't deny I'm kinda bummed about it. You seem like an interesting person to get to know." Clarke offers her a soft smile.

Lexa offers her one back, although it's not really something she can control. It seems Clarke just have that effect on her.

"Maybe... now that I'm here we could just talk?" Clarke offers timidly.

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to know what sort of things Anya told you about me while imposing... as me." Lexa raises a playful eyebrow.

"Nothing bad, I promise. Unless she lied, of course." Clarke raises an eyebrow of her own.

"Try me."

"Lawyer."

"True."

"You go for a run each morning."

"Also true."

"There's an interesting story behind Heda."

"Well... Story, yes. Interesting, no." Lexa grins.

"That's it."

"That's it? You decided to go on a date with me based on _that_?"

"Well, no. I was told I had gorgeous eyes in a very charming way and then I was asked to share something that wasn't in my profile and I said I'm a better conversationalist in person, so... Here we are."

"Well, you do have gorgeous eyes." Lexa blushes when she realizes what she just said and Clarke grins at her.

"It's only fair that you know I told your sister that you have gorgeous eyes too," Clarke watches as Lexa drops her gaze clearly trying to cover up a blush. Maybe this non-date isn't a total failure after all, she thinks.

"So," Lexa clears her throat, "You clearly know all these things about me... and I know nothing about you. At least tell me what my sister already knows?"

"Sure, I can do better, hang on," Clarke pulls out her phone and logs onto the dating site and hands Lexa her phone. "Read for yourself."

Lexa finds herself staring at Clarke's profile photo. There are two things Lexa already lov... likes about Clarke. Her warm smile and her bright blue eyes. Yeah, they're gorgeous. She scrolls down to read Clarke's profile.

"Pediatrician?"

"Yeah."

"I admire that. I want to make our world a better place for our children, their children too, but we also need someone like you to take care of our current ones." Lexa nods to herself thinking that Anya really did hit the bull's eye choosing Clarke. If she _were_ to date someone, Clarke would be a perfect candidate. She's so caught up in her own thoughts that she doesn't see Clarke watch her with soft eyes.

"So... SkyPrincess," Lexa returns her phone. "What's the story there?"

"Let's make a deal. I'll tell you if you promise to share your Heda story." Clarke offers, a mischievous spark in her eyes.

Lexa pulls her upper lip between her teeth, contemplating if it's worth it.

"Okay. Deal."

"Yeah?"

Lexa nods, not entirely sure whether she's going to regret this.

"My dad was an astrophysics. He used to teach me about the stars. And he used to call me Princess." Clarke never talks about her belated dad to anyone. Not even her mom. Telling Lexa this one very sentimental piece both calms her down and terrifies her at the same time.

"He sounds like a great man," Lexa says, not missing the past tense.

"He was," Clarke smiles, staring at her now empty bottle.

"Want another?" Lexa asks.

"If you let me pay."

"Nonsense." Lexa brushes off Clarke's demand waving the bartender over to ask for another two bottles, smirking at Clarke as she hands over a bill to pay for them.

"Okay, Heda... Spill." Clarke twists in her barstool, maybe intentionally doing so with the purpose of brushing her knee against Lexa's thigh. She studies Lexa freezing for a split second, not sure if it's good or bad.

"When we were kids we used to play these games, competitive games, and Anya would set up her base camp in the living room and I'd set mine up in the kitchen," Lexa smiles inwardly by the memory. "We'd hide secret treasures around the house and the first to find all of them would eventually win the game." Lexa stops for a second to look at Clarke who's grinning at her story.

"Go on," Clarke encourages her.

"You're way too invested in this story, Clarke."

"Sue me."

"I could, you know, I'm a lawyer." Lexa smirks receiving a bright laughter in turn and it fills her with a bubbling sensation in her gut. Something she hasn't felt in a long time. She blames it on the fact that she's already on her third beer.

"You and Anya were playing as kids aaand..." Clarke playfully pushes her knee against Lexa's thigh keeping the physical contact between them and Clarke mentally smiles by the fact that Lexa isn't scooting away from her.

"Anya always won when it was physical games, because she's four years older and I was a tiny thing when we were kids. Anya once said my head is my strongest muscle because I outplayed her with my cunning strategy. The head thing became Heda at some point, I don't know how. She still calls me that sometimes." Lexa smiles into her bottle before taking another sip.

"What kind of cunning strategy?" Clarke wants to know, clearly intrigued by childhood stories of the woman in front her. She's picturing a skinny child with wavy chestnut hair and fierce green eyes walking around planning to take over the world.

"I'd tell my parents that Anya did something she wasn't allowed to and they would come running to scold her all the while I slipped away to get a head start of whatever game we had going." Lexa grins and when Clarke grins along, she says, "That worked a lot more times than it should have."

"Did she get her revenge?"

"She tied me to a chair outside in the rain for three hours once," Lexa shrugs.

"She didn't!" Clarke refuses to believe it.

"She did. Ask her if you don't believe me. She'll gladly share stories of her bullying me."

"I might," Clarke laughs. "I feel kinda sorry for your parents, though."

"Yeah... We were a handful." Lexa sighs, her eyes landing on Clarke's knee against her thigh. She feels like she needs to hyperventilate, she's been feeling like that for a while. But she can't make herself move away. She can't make herself not like it. She blames that on the third beer too.

A quiet calm settles around them functioning as a buffer between them and the real world. Clarke studies Lexa whose eyes are still locked on the place her knee touches her thigh. For some reason Clarke feels like her heart is breaking.

"You okay?" Clarke asks, afraid she made a mistake but she couldn't help herself.

Lexa meets her eyes and Clarke sees the struggle in them. She watches them slide downward to her lips, she watches them blink as if trying to regain control over them.

"Can I ask you something?" Clarke says softly.

Because it's just the two of them in this bubble Lexa nods although she has a feeling it's a question she doesn't want to answer.

"How come you don't date?"

"It's easier, head over heart," Lexa says, blaming that third beer for her uncensored honesty too.

"Bad break-up," Clarke states more so than asking.

Lexa averts her eyes, leaving Clarke's remark to dissolve into silence. Clarke knows what that means.

"I get it. Been there." Clarke says thinking about that time she caught Finn cheating on her and she was en emotional mess for over a year.

Lexa meets her eyes again, her first thought being that Clarke is too good, she doesn't deserve to have her heart broken.

"With time the easy part turns to loneliness, before you know it, you end up like me." Clarke blinks, not meaning to share that last bit.

"Like you?"

"Very much alone." Clarke grabs her bottle and takes a long swig before placing it back onto the bar counter. She locks her eyes onto her thumb as it brushes against the edge of the label. She feels Lexa's hand come to rest on her knee giving it a little squeeze.

"You're not alone, Clarke," Lexa whispers. When Clarke meets her eyes again she panics a little. It's definitely that third beer that controls her hand right now.

Except it isn't.

It's her bloody heart that can't bare the hurt in Clarke's voice. Her traitorous beating muscle in her chest. It must be, because it's beating rapidly, something it hasn't done in a long long time.  
Clarke senses Lexa is about to let go, so she puts her own hand on top of Lexa's, giving it a squeeze too.

"Do you think... maybe we could be friends?" Clarke almost breaks hearing the vulnerability that thickens her own throat. She's barely known this woman for an hour and she already knows she doesn't want to ever lose her. Clarke can respect Lexa not wanting to date, but maybe they could be friends.

"I'd like that," Lexa smiles.

 

### TWO.

"I can't believe you!" Lexa scowls at Anya as she enters the kitchen in her parents house. Once a month they have a family lunch, everyone, Anya, Roan, Aden and Lexa.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Anya feigns ignorance.

"Oh shut up, Anya. I understand you'd do it to me but Clarke didn't deserve that." Lexa roars.

"Girls, calm down," their mom says in that calm voice of hers she seems to have mastered because if she hadn't she'd gone mental a long time ago.

Lexa clenches her jaw trying to control her outburst and Anya takes a seat across from her smirking cockily at her little sister.

"She wrote me back, you know," Anya says and Lexa tries to not care but she can tell from Anya's obnoxious smirk that she's failing miserably. "She said you told her about me tying you to a chair in the rain and wanted confirmation."

"Anya," her mom scolds.

"I told her you deserved it being the little shit you were." Anya ignores her mom, ignoring Lexa's glaring too. "Wanna know what _she_ said?"

"No." Lexa knows it'll either be another reason to hate Anya more or another reason to like Clarke more.

"I'm gonna tell you anyways. She said, and I quote, 'Lexa deserves better. She deserves all the love in the world, so be nice to her.'"

Anya lets the words ring in the deafening silence of their parents' kitchen. Lexa takes a deep breath before sliding her chair back, rising to her feet. She ignores Anya's _"Oh come on, sis."_ as she exits the back door to get away from her. She walks to the far end to take a seat on one of the swings on the swingset.

It bothers her that Anya and Clarke have been talking about her. A part of her is jealous of Anya, but mostly she's angry with herself for letting Clarke in. This is exactly what she was trying to avoid.

The thing is, every time she tries to push Clarke out of her mind, Clarke settles in her bones just a bit more. Every goddamn time.

She has barely slept the last two nights. Every time she closes her eyes she sees blue ones, every time she stares into the dark she feels Clarke's knee below her hand and Clarke's hand on top of her own.

She sighs defeatedly the second she realizes she's slipped out her phone and found Clarke's contact information.

She _could_ use a friend right now.

//

Clarke spends her Saturday afternoon at the hospital. She's running a double shift today and is currently lying on her back, hands folded over her stomach, trying to get some sleep before the next heavy load of work. While it's convenient that the hospital has rooms the doctors can use for a nap, these beds are seriously uncomfortable.

Clarke's phone lights up the dark room and she knows she should ignore it and instead get some sleep but her curiosity gets the better of her.

The thing is, Clarke has only a few number of people that would contact her. One is her mom except they rarely talk about anything else than formalities. Another is Octavia, her best friend since high school, but she's currently traveling somewhere on the other side of the globe, so it's probably not her either.

She stretches her arm to pick up the phone from the tiny bed side table. Her eyes are already used to the dark, so she squint because of the harsh light as she reads the name of the sender. Her heart flutters when she sees it's from Lexa.

 **Lexa:**  
_Hey Clarke. I should have asked you this sooner, but did you get home safe?_

 **Clarke:**  
_Hi Lexa. It's good to hear from you. Yes, I did get home safe. Did you?_

 **Lexa:**  
_I did :)_

Clarke can't help but think that this just might be Lexa's excuse of wanting to talk to her. She has a sixth sense about thess things, so she decides to take control.

 **Clarke:**  
_That's good. So how are you enjoying your weekend?_

 **Lexa:**  
_Currently I'm not. It's the monthly family dinner and Anya is... Well, Anya._

 **Clarke:**  
_What did she do now?_

 **Lexa:**  
_She's teasing me about you._

 **Clarke:**  
_Is there a reason she's teasing you about me?_

 **Lexa:**  
_I thought not, but Anya always finds something to tease me about... So who knows?_

 **Clarke:**  
_So what are you doing right now?_

 **Lexa:**  
_Sulking outside on the swingset_

 **Clarke:**  
_You're not!_

 **Lexa:**  
_[photo attached]_  
_I am._

Clarke grins when she sees the photo Lexa sent her. It's a selfie taken from up high clearly showing a pouting Lexa on a swing. Clarke gets lost in her eyes for a moment, being pulled back out when a new text is delivered.

 **Lexa:**  
_What about you? How are you spending your weekend?_

 **Clarke:**  
_Working a double shift. I'm currently on a break. I've got tomorrow off though, but no plans._

 **Lexa:**  
_Double shift. Shouldn't you be sleeping now then?_

 **Clarke:**  
_Don't worry, I would've ignored the phone if I did sleep. I was thinking, if you're free tomorrow, do you maybe wanna have lunch?_

 **Lexa:**  
_I'd like that._

 **Clarke:**  
_Okay, I'll text you the details later. I'm gonna try catching some sleep_

 **Lexa:**  
_Sleep well :)_

Clarke is grinning like a mad woman into the dark as she tries her best to go to sleep. It seems though, that this unexpected text conversation with Lexa has given her some sort of adrenaline rush, something that eventually makes her handle the rest of her shift with ease.

//

"I'm sorry, sis," Anya says, taking the swing next to Lexa.

"It's fine," Lexa says, tired of fighting. She slides her phone back into her pocket as if it'll somehow keep Clarke out of Anya's grasp.

"Can I just say one more thing and then I'll drop it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No." Anya deadpans. She then proceeds, "Clarke went onto that site to find someone to share her life with, so don't wait too long to accept what you already know."

"What do you mean what I already know?"

"Based on the silly smile you wore when I came out here, I'm betting my firstborn child that you were texting Clarke. Embrace it Lex. It's a rare and beautiful thing." Anya says, getting up from the swing. "Come on back inside, Aden is asking for his cool Aunt Lexa." Anya mocks quotation signs around the word cool and Lexa playfully swings a kick at Anya's leg but Anya easily jumps away in time.

"Give me a minute, okay?"

"Sure."

//

Clarke waits by the corner as she told Lexa she would. She doesn't remember the last time she was this excited about anything. She tries to casually lean against the lamp post, her restless hands tugged deep into her jeans pockets and when she spots Lexa from across the street she tries her best to hide her beaming smile behind the cover of scratching her nose. She watches Lexa walk towards her, black jeans and a casual button up and Clarke has to force her eyes to stay locked on Lexa's as to not ogle her. She watches as Lexa notices her and her heart skips a beat over the soft smile Lexa sends her way.

"Clarke," Lexa greats her with a nod.

"Lexa," Clarke copies her greeting. "What happened to the lawyer suit?"

"I'm uptight at work, I like to not be in my free time," Lexa smiles.

"Well, I like both," Clarke winks playfully, _not_ flirtatiously, she reminds herself. This is not a date. It's lunch with a new friend. Friendship. That's all.

"Does that mean I'll get to see you in your scrubs sometime?" Lexa grins.

"Well, you might, if you ever end up in the pediatrics ward," Clarke ponders out loud.

"Huh..." Lexa scolds herself for automatically beginning the task of planning occurrences that potentially could lead her to the pediatrics ward. Say she had to go to the ER, she could get lost in the hospital halls and suddenly find herself bewildered and lost in the pediatrics ward.

"Come on, I have a craving," Clarke says.

"Uh okay." Lexa doesn't know what that means but she finds herself tagging along next to Clarke thinking that she doesn't care where she's taking her as long as she's _taking her_.

Clarke takes her a few blocks away to a sandwich shop Lexa has never heard of. She says, "These are the best sandwiches in the city. Order what you want. It's on me." Before Lexa can interject Clarke says, "I don't wanna hear it. You paid for drinks the other night. I'm paying for this."

Lexa let's her, reluctantly, but only because Clarke is smiling like the sun and Lexa doesn't know how she'll ever be able to win an argument against it.

Clarke takes the paper bag with sandwiches and water bottles and guides Lexa to the riverfront, there's a park that snakes along the curve of the river. They take a seat on the big stone steps made entirely for this exact purpose.

"So this craving of yours," Lexa is curious.

"This particular sandwich in this particular spot," Clarke explains as she hands Lexa her sandwich.

"You do it often?"

"Sometimes. There's so much life here. Nature, people... I like to go here when I feel lonely." Clarke wasn't supposed to say the last part but something about Lexa makes her want to share her deepest secrets. She spends a little extra time unwrapping her own sandwich hoping Lexa will say something to change the subject before she looks back up at her.

"Your solution is definitely better than mine. This is a great spot," Lexa says.

"What's your solution?" Clarke meets Lexa's eyes and there's this gravitational pull that leaves her breathless. Just the idea of Lexa feeling lonely makes Clarke's heart hurt.

"Work. Sometimes sweatpants and a beer alone in my apartment." Lexa sighs, narrowing her eyes as she takes her first bite. Clarke watches as Lexa's facial expression softens and she smiles when Lexa mumbles mouth full, _"ohmygodthisisgood."_

"I told you, they're the best in the city." Clarke grins. She looks out onto the river and says, "and that's the best view."

Lexa watches Clarke smile by her own words. She wants to tell her that _she's_ the best view in the city, but if she does it means things Lexa doesn't want to mean. Instead she says, "I might have one that beats it."

"Impossible." Clarke ends the discussion.

"I'm serious. If you have time I could show you afterwards." Lexa opens the discussion again.

Clarke studies Lexa with a judging eye and pursed lips. "Deal," she says. If Lexa offers to show her a part of her life she'll gladly take it, any of it.

//

Lexa leads Clarke back into the city. She refuses to tell Clarke where she's going and Clarke refuses to admit she enjoys the thrill of not knowing. But she does. She very much enjoys the fact that Lexa wants to show her something so bad she keeps it a secret.

"No." Clarke gasps in disbelief.

"What's that?" Lexa grins.

"Polis Tower?" Clarke stares up the tallest building in the city, wide eyes and mouth agape.

"Oh you heard of it," Lexa shrugs.

"Are you kidding me? You can get us in?" Clarke is like a child and Lexa loves it.

"Yep." Lexa says gesturing for Clarke to walk through the swing doors. Once inside, Lexa guides them to the front desk.

"Hello Miss Woods," the clerk greets her formally.

"Hello Gustus, how are you this afternoon?" Lexa greets him.

"Fine fine," he smiles. "You're not here for work, I assume?"

Lexa knows he's pointing out the unusually casual outfit she's wearing. "I'm not. I need a guest pass for Clarke..." She looks at Clarke, "I need your last name."

"Griffin."

"I need a guest pass for Clarke Griffin, just for the day."

"Of course." Gustus types a few things on his keyboard and a minute later he's handing over a guest pass with Clarke's name on it. "The view?" he asks knowingly.

Lexa nods softly and he winks at her. Lexa contemplates explaining to him that it's not what he thinks it is, but decides just to ignore it. "Come on, Clarke." Lexa guides her to the elevator.

Clarke is in awe. She often looks at the building, forty floors tall, towering over the rest of the city, wondering what the view might look like from the top. Lexa spends the elevator ride watching Clarke as she's practically glued to the glass, silently watching the ground beneath them grow smaller until cars are tiny ants moving around in a grid.

The elevator stops on the top floor and Lexa guides Clarke up a stairwell that leads to the rooftop and Clarke walks all the way to the edge and leans against the railing.

"Do you take all the pretty girls up here," Clarke teases.

"Just you." Lexa blushes when she realizes what she just said. Clarke doesn't miss it and she grins at Lexa enjoying to see her a bit flustered.

"I'm torn," Clarke says, still holding Lexa's gaze.

"How so?" Lexa clears her throat to get rid of the dryness.

"I really like both views," Clarke smiles.

Lexa walks the last few steps standing next to Clarke, leaning against the railing too. She looks out onto the horizon and says, "I go up here to be alone. Clear my head."

"In that case I feel honored to be someone you want to share that with," Clarke says, and she loves the vulnerability that takes over Lexa's eyes as she looks at her.

"Can I ask you something?" Clarke says, shifting to lean against the railing sideways.

"Of course," Lexa says. This time she doesn't have the third beer to blame.

"If you did date, would you date me?" Clarke feels herself falling for Lexa every minute she spends with her and she needs to know if it's completely off the table or if it's only a matter of being patient.

"Anya chose you for a reason, Clarke." Lexa says, looking back onto the horizon.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes. I... Clarke... It's--" Lexa stumbles over the words wanting to _say something_ but her thoughts are in a knot.

"Hey, Lexa, it's okay," Clarke says, resting a hand on Lexa's forearm. She gives it a little squeeze and it calms Lexa down immediately. "I didn't mean to... I want to be your friend. I won't deny that I'd like it to be more, but I just... If you want me to, I'd like to be your friend. I guess I just needed to know where we stand." Clarke says, looking out onto the horizon too.

Lexa swallows the lump in her throat, nodding. It's all she's able to do. Clarke goes back to study the view and Lexa misses Clarke's touch against her arm.

"I'll take you here to watch the sunset one day," Lexa says.

"How about the sunrise?"

"That too."

"Deal."

"Clarke," Lexa says, shifting to face Clarke. She waits for Clarke to face her too. "I want to be your friend too."

Clarke's smile reaches her eyes, those bright blue eyes that have haunted Lexa since Thursday night. Lexa can't help herself, her eyes fall to her lips. She can't blame this on the third beer either.

"Lexa?" The lips say.

"Yeah?"

"Promise me one thing?"

"What's that?"

"Don't kiss me unless you mean it." Clarke whispers.

Lexa finds Clarke's eyes again, she nods before looking back onto the horizon. The things is, Lexa does mean it, it's just, she wishes she didn't.

 

### THREE.

Clarke becomes a part of Lexa's routine too. When Clarke doesn't work on Sundays, they have lunch together by the river and when Clarke feels lonely, she texts Lexa just like Lexa texts Clarke when she feels lonely too.

They text a lot. So much that Anya is almost exploding when she points out the stupid grin on Lexa's face and Lexa immediately scowls at her. Sometimes she can't believe that this idiotic woman is the same person who used to outsmart her when they were kids.

The past two weeks they've taken to calling each other instead and when Clarke asks if Lexa is busy, Lexa looks at the case files on the desk in front of her saying "no, not at all." Clarke invites Lexa over for pizza and beer and crappy TV shows and Lexa abandons her work without hesitation. They've done that a few times now and their evenings always end with Clarke pulling Lexa into a hug over the threshold of her apartment door lingering for longer than what's considered friendly. Both women let go with a sinking feeling in their heart, missing each other's touch long after Lexa leaves the apartment.

Sometimes Clarke almost leans in to finally find out what Lexa's lips will feel like against her own.

Clarke doesn't know this, but sometimes Lexa almost leans in too. It's usually when Clarke's eyes slide to Lexa's lips, but there's a voice in the back of her mind that convinces her not to. When she walks through the streets back to her own empty apartment another voice in the back of her mind tells her she's an idiot. She convinces herself that the first voice is always right.

Because it's easier.

Except it isn't.

It's not easy at all when Clarke thirty minutes later texts her if she got home safe. It's not easy when Lexa replies that yes she did and sleep well Clarke, when she'd rather tell her that yes she's home safe but her empty apartment creeps her out and the loneliness is beginning to suffocate her.

Lexa doesn't know, but Clarke is suffocating too. If she did know she'd go to her immediately. She'd hold her and make sure she'll never feel lonely again.

Except it's the hard thing to do.

What Lexa fails to see is that insisting on being alone is even harder.

//

Lexa invites Clarke to her parents' annual summer party. There's a part of her that doesn't like to see Clarke lonely and Lexa's family is a generous, hospitable bunch.

Anya smirks when they enter the house, saying "So we finally meet, SkyPrincess," earning a playful smile from Clarke and a vengeful scowl from Lexa.

"Be nice," Lexa commands.

"You're not the boss of me," Anya raises a daring eyebrow at her little sister earning a bright laughter erupting from Clarke's lungs.

"Girls..." their mom interrupts them, that calm tone in her voice again. Both sisters recognize it as the 'stop fighting' voice. "Clarke, it's nice to finally meet you."

"You too," Clarke greets her and hands her the bouquet of flowers she brought her.

"Ooh, they're beautiful. Thank you." She says, and Lexa can't help the flutter in her heart caused by the smile her mom and Clarke share.

Lexa guides Clarke through the house and to the backyard where they greet her dad by the grill. "I hope you're hungry," he waves the spatula enthusiastically in the air. Clarke shares a smile with him too and Lexa needs to figure out how to stop her heart from fluttering all the time. It makes her anxious.

Lexa feels a tug on her hand and she looks down to find Aden grinning up at her.

"Hey Aden," Lexa grins back. "What are you up to?"

"Ice cream," he beams.

"No!" Anya yells from the other end of the backyard.

"You know what, Aden? Ice cream sounds like a great idea," Lexa says loud enough for Anya to hear. She reaches down to pick him up and places him on top of her shoulders. "Hang on tight, okay?"

"Okay."

"Clarke? Would you care to join us in our quest for ice cream?" Lexa asks, a playful smile on her lips.

Clarke's heart flutters when Lexa smiles too, but where Lexa panics, Clarke welcomes it. She knows that Lexa's soft smiles are only reserved for her and for now that's good enough.

"Lead the way," she says, winking at Aden which earns her a giggle.

"Lexa! Stop ruining my child!" Anya scolds from afar.

Lexa ignores her gracefully and guides Clarke back inside. She places Aden back onto the floor and opens the freezer. "Alright, let's see. Vanilla or strawberry?"

"Stwawbewwy," Aden says.

Lexa digs out one of those tiny popsicles her parents keep for Aden only. She helps him unwrap it and he grins when she hands it to him. She watches him run back outside and then looks at Clarke who has a raised eyebrow pointed at her.

"What?" Lexa asks.

"You and your sister..." She sighs exaggeratedly.

Lexa shrugs, grinning at her. "Do you want a popsicle too?"

"No thanks," Clarke laughs, "I indirectly promised your dad not to spoil my appetite."

"We can get you one later," Lexa says matter-of-factly. "Come on, let's get you something to drink."

Lexa's dad insist that she helps out by the grill and Anya uses the opportunity to wrap an arm around Clarke's shoulder and guide her away from Lexa. "Be nice," Lexa warns her and Anya grins mischievously over her shoulder.

"I'll be nice, Clarke, I promise. But that doesn't mean I can't poke a little at the uptight idiot over there," Anya says when they're out of earshot. "I wanted to apologize for the date thing. I didn't consider how it would look like from your point of view."

"It's okay, Anya." Clarke smiles, taking a seat next to Anya.

"So...?"

"So, what?" Clarke feigns ignorance.

"Clarke, your an intelligent woman, which is one of many reasons I chose you, so come on, spill."

"There's nothing to spill. We're friends." Clarke says.

"Friends? Do you not see how she looks at you?" Anya says frantically.

"I do," Clarke sighs. "But she's not ready. I have a feeling I'll be making things worse if I force it upon her."

"You're probably right..." Anya sighs too. "She's so frustrating." They both chuckle lightly.

Clarke watches Lexa by the grill and she smiles when she meets her eyes. Anya watches the both of them smile at each other wishing she knew how to knock some sense into her sister's head.

"Clarke?" Anya breaks the silence.

"Mh?"

"Please don't give up on her. I haven't seen her smile like this in a long time," Anya says with her most sincere voice.

"I don't think I could even if I tried," Clarke confesses.

//

Lexa walks Clarke home, their arms momentarily brushing against each other as they stroll along the sidewalks. Lexa feels a clenching in her heart that slowly grows more painful the closer they get to Clarke's apartment. She knows from experience it'll keep growing with every step she takes alone towards her own place. For the first time since she met Clarke the voice in her head reminds her that she doesn't ever feel that pain when they're together. For the first time since Costia left she allows herself to imagine what it would be like to belong to someone else.

The thing is, Lexa already feels like she belongs to Clarke.

They linger in front of Clarke's apartment building. Clarke wants to keep walking because it means she'll have Lexa by her side for longer. Lexa wants the very same thing.

"Thank you for joining me today," Lexa smiles.

"Thank you for the invite," Clarke smiles back.

"I'm sorry about Anya."

"Nah, I like her. Your family is really nice."

"You had fun?"

"I did."

Lexa nods, trying to think of something else to say, _anything_ to prolong this moment before she walks back towards her loneliness. Clarke struggles to think of something too, so instead she pulls Lexa into a hug.

This hug is different than every other hug they've shared. It lasts longer, Lexa's arms tightening around Clarke's waist a bit more refusing to let Clarke end it.

"Lex..." Clarke whispers.

"Yeah?" Lexa buries her face in the crook of Clarke's neck.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Lexa whispers after what feels like minutes of Clarke holding her breath.

"You sure?" Clarke cups Lexa's cheek to force her to look at her. Lexa lets it happen but keeps her arms around Clarke's waist.

"No." Lexa sighs defeatedly. She closes her eyes and leans her forehead against Clarke's.

"Wanna tell me what's wrong?" Clarke's voice a shade of soft she only ever uses around Lexa.

Lexa opens her eyes again and lifts a hand to run her fingertips down Clarke's cheek, Clarke's hands moving to rest against Lexa's collarbones.

"I don't want this moment to end," Lexa confesses, barely a whisper.

"It doesn't have to," Clarke says, knowing it might be too bold a move. She watches the battle in Lexa's eyes. She recognizes the fear. She wishes she knew how to ease her pain. Clarke slowly lets her hand fall to Lexa's waist. In Lexa's mind it translates into Clarke letting go and that's the last thing Lexa wants. She wants Clarke to hold on, to cling to her, to never _ever_ let go. The voice in the back of her mind is back again and this time it's telling her the easiest thing is to lean in.

So she does.

She leans in, slowly, studying Clarke's eyes. All she finds is the courage she needs to close the distance.

So she does.

Clarke's lips are soft and tender, warm as they move against her own. She tastes of summer, beer and BBQ and Lexa can't believe she's been missing out on _this_ all this time.

Then Clarke's lips are hesitant and Lexa pulls back afraid she's missed her chance by waiting this long.

"Do you mean it?" Clarke asks and Lexa almost can't bare to witness how vulnerable Clarke sounds, how insecure she looks.

"Yes." Lexa smiles, loving how the smile mirrors onto Clarke's lips too.

"Then do it again," Clarke whispers.

So she does.


	5. Hair Pin (Stuck Together AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For ClexaWeek2017 Day 3. 
> 
> The Stuck Together AU
> 
> Or the AU in which Clarke's friends keep handcuffing her to random people at parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is light and - hopefully - a little bit funny too.  
> I hope it brings a smile to your face.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~anonbeme

Okay. 

This happens. 

You somehow let your sister talk you into going with her to this party, and you don’t do parties. Not five minutes into it you’re reminded exactly why that is. A blonde woman walks up to greet the both of you and out of nowhere two screaming dark-haired women comes running towards you and handcuffs you to the blonde. It happens so fast you barely register it, the handcuffs, that is. You totally register the screaming women, though. It’s kind of hard not to. 

Drunkards.

Idiocity.

That’s why you don’t do parties. 

“Not this again…” The blonde groans, shaking the hand cuffed to you. “Raven, come on!” she complains, and by the sound of it she already knows it’s a lost cause. You’ve heard Anya talk about a Raven before, someone you’re quite sure she’s got a massive crush on. 

“ _That’s_ Raven?” You look at Anya. 

“Yeah,” she grins. She slaps you hard on the back as she walks off. “Have fun, sis!”

You look at the blonde who’s staring defeatedly at the cuffs around your wrists. She gives it another little shake. A scowl too. 

“I don’t think that’s going to work,” you say and you can’t help the smile tugging on your lips when she looks at you, her annoyed crinkle between her eyes is kind of adorable. 

“I know,” she sighs. 

“This happened before?”

“More than once,” she shares. You find yourself smiling again. 

“Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice–” 

“Oh shut up smart-ass. They’re supposed to be my friends,” she grumps, giving your hand a little shake again. 

“So… How are long are we stuck together?”

“Well, based on past experiences… until tomorrow.” She looks at you, apology written in her eyes. 

“Really?” Wow, this Raven means business. No wonder Anya likes her so much.

“Why are you this calm?” 

One reason. You know how to unlock a pair of handcuffs with a hair pin. But you don’t tell her that. You’re at a party and usually _you’re_ the grumpy one, but this stranger you’re stuck to makes you smile, so you decide to play it out. You can always go with the hair pin solution if it turns ugly. Any time. 

“Why not?” You give her a confident smile. She seizes you up, narrowing her eyes playfully. 

“Clarke.” She holds out her right hand, her free hand. You give it a clumsy shake, your right hand shackled to her left and all. 

“Lexa.”

“Okay, Lexa. I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances, maybe you’d like to join me in the kitchen? I need a drink.”

“Well, Clarke, it seems I don’t have a choice, so lead the way.” Your own little shake of your joined hands makes Clarke chuckle and you can’t help yourself from thinking that of all the people you could’ve ended up being stuck with, she’s not too bad. She links her pinky finger with your index finger and leads you carefully through the crowd that has gathered in the hallway. Not once does she tug hard on the cuffs, and you’re not entirely sure you could pull that off yourself, not even sober. That makes you smile a little too. 

“Beer?” She asks, opening the fridge. 

“Sure.” 

“Just remember, that we are gonna have to go to the bathroom together too… eventually.” She’s awfully matter-of-fact about this. 

“How many times have this happened to you, exactly?” 

“Too many,” she mutters, and you can’t help the laugh that escapes your lungs. “Yeah, I need new friends.”

“Not good experiences?”

“What gave it away.” She deadpans, making you smile again. 

“That terrible?”

“Yep.” She pops the p. 

This experience isn’t terrible at all, you conclude, because Clarke is easy to talk to.

“Worst experience.” You prompt her. 

“Uh, well this one guy was so drunk he pissed on himself in the bathroom. A little on me too.” She nods, her nose crinkled by disgust. 

“Oh gross,” you agree with her. 

“At least they’ve paired me up with girls after that one… so far.” Clarke sighs wistfully. 

“I promise I’ll control the pee,” you say, in your most earnest voice, and you receive a bright laughter in return, one that makes your heart flutter a little. 

Clarke is a little tipsy when you eventually do have to use the bathroom. You must be too because you forget about the hair pin trick. Or maybe you just don’t care. Perhaps at some point you considered what revealing the hair pin trick would mean, and perhaps you decided you weren’t quite ready to not be stuck with her anymore. 

“Don’t look,” she pleads and you turn around as best you can, but when she goes to pull her jeans down, she pulls on your wrist as well, apparently having forgotten about the cuffs linking you. “Shit, sorry,” she blurts out as you mercilessly stumble into her. You grab at whatever there’s to grab at to regain your balance. Her. You grab at her. Her semi-naked waist, her jeans halfway down her thighs, her shirt not long enough to cover up her boy shorts. 

You’re a flustered mess. You can tell because your cheeks heat up. You’re staring and you can’t not stare and it’s getting embarrassing really fast. 

“Spiderman fan?” She asks. You blink and when you look at her, she winks at you, an amused curl to her lips. 

“Uh…” Your fluster increases to never before reached levels as you subconsciously look back down at her spiderman boy shorts. 

“Lexa?” 

“Yes?” You look back up at her. 

“Turn around. I still need to pee.”

“Oh, sorry.” You close your eyes and turn around to the soundtrack of Clarke’s soft laughter. This time she remembers the existence of the cuffs. 

For some reason, you still don’t consider using the hair pin trick. Not even when it’s your turn to pee. You patiently wait for her to turn around but she shakes her head and says, “Nuh-uh, I showed you mine, now show me yours.”

You still feel bad about ogling her awkwardly, so you comply, biting your lip nervously as you pull down your jeans. Your own boy shorts are black. Boring. Bland. 

You stare at your feet until she chuckles. “Thank you,” she quips as she turns around to give you privacy, or whatever you call it knowing full well that she can hear you pee. 

This is humiliating. 

A little. 

A lot. 

She’s still sporting an amused smile once you’re done struggling with your jeans. “That never gets easy, not even with practice,” she’d said, and you’d eventually given up and used both hands to pull them back up, even if it meant her hand came dangerously close to your… private area. 

You stand side by side washing your hands by the sink. “How about this?” You ask her. 

“Well, the trick is to do it in turns,” she says as she lets you wash your hands first. 

“I see,” you’re surprisingly impressed by something so mundane as handwashing. It may be the alcohol. 

The awkward ogling is long forgotten when she links her pinky finger with your index finger once again and guides you back into the kitchen. She pulls out another two beers and hands you one, her finger still tethered to yours. She elegantly jumps to take a seat on the kitchen counter and you lean against it next to her. 

“So…” she says, her fingers playing with yours. You let her, it feels nice. “Lexa, fan of spiderman,” you raise a disapproving eyebrow at her and she winks at you, “who are you?” 

“I’m Anya’s sister,” you tell her. 

“No.”

“No?”

“I already know that. Tell me something else.”

“I’m not a spiderman fan,” you tell her. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” she grins into her beer bottle. “Fan of half naked women, then?” 

You really want to play it cool and say something like _‘Can you blame me?’_ but flustered Lexa is there again and the heat creeps back onto your cheeks. You take a swig of your beer trying to hide it, but you must’ve failed because she laughs again. You realize you don’t mind being awkward around her if it earns you something so beautiful in return. 

So you shrug and smile at her. 

“Yeah, me too,” she says and you take a sudden liking to the blush creeping up _her_ cheeks. 

It’s still easy, talking to her, smiling, drinking, laughing. You suppose that’s how you end up leaning against the kitchen counter standing between her legs. Your bottle is empty, left somewhere next to her, your left hand is on her thigh, your right is entangled with her left. It’s clumsy because of the cuffs and you _still_ don’t consider revealing the hair pin trick. 

She tells you she’s an artist and you tell her you’re lost. She laughs at you not believing you one bit and you explain that your parents want you to take over their company but you want to travel, see the world. You want to make it a better place, but you don’t know how to do that without having seen it. _Truly_ seen it. She then looks at you with something akin of awe and you don’t mean to but your eyes drop to her lips. They look really soft, they look inviting as she bites at the corner. You hear her chuckle, you feel a finger pressing your chin up, you meet her eyes and your own flutter shut as she leans in to capture your lips. 

It’s a pretty spectacular thing, kissing Clarke. She’s soft and warm and the tip of her tongue teases you. She tastes like beer and you probably do too. She sucks on your lower lip and it feels like having air blown into your lungs and life shot into your veins. 

Exciting voices scream “YES!” followed by the sound of what _could_ be a high-five. You don’t care because you’re kissing Clarke and it’s a phenomenal thing. Clarke does care, though, and she robs you of the grandness you’ve become quite fond of already as she groans and leans her forehead against yours. 

“I’m sorry,” she says and you want to ask her why but you don’t get a chance to before the two dark-haired women appears in your periphery, Raven and her friend. 

“Finally!” One exclaims. 

“Go away!” Clarke sighs. 

“No.” The other deadpans.

“At least take this off?” Clarke lifts their joined hands, joined by cuffs, joined by touch. 

“They’re holding hands, Rae.” One says, grinning like an idiot. 

“I can see that, O,” the other says, copying her grin.

“If I’d know a pair of handcuffs was all it took for you to enjoy a party, I’d have done it myself a long time ago,” Anya appears, cocky and pretentious on the other side of you. 

Now it’s your turn to groan. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Clarke whispers. 

“God yes.”

She pushes you back so she can slide off the counter, your cuffed hands fully entwined as she pulls you towards the doorway, through the crowd of drunkards, up the stairs and into a room.

“It’s mine,” she says. 

“Ah,” You say. 

“I’m not that kind of girl,” she says and you assume she means sex with someone she barely knows. 

“Me neither,” you say. 

“Maybe we can talk? I’d like to get to know you.”

“I’d like that too.” You share a smile and she pulls you towards her bed. “But before we do I need to borrow a hair pin.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see,” is all you give her and she hesitantly pulls you towards her dresser, picking up a hair pin from the top drawer. She hands it to you and you tell her, “I’m sorry for not doing this earlier, but also I’m _not_ sorry because I’ve had a really great time. Please don’t hate me.” She gives you a confused look and you explain yourself by sticking the hair pin into the lock on the handcuffs, wiggling it _just right_ , expertly removing them from both your wrists. 

“I don’t know whether to yell at you for keeping that a secret or make innuendos about talented fingers,” she says, thoughtfully. For some reason you blush again and she laughs at you. Again. You don’t care. 

“You can yell at me,” you tell her, “I don’t need innuendos to know how talented my fingers are.” Two can play this game. 

“Okay, okay…” She says, trying to hide her own blush. “Come on, before I regret it.” 

She throws herself onto her bed, and you lay down next to her, both of you looking at the ceiling, your hands finding each other again in the narrow space between your bodies. 

“Spiderman AND glow-in-the-dark stars? HOW old are you, Clarke?” You tease her.

“They remind me of my dad,” she says and you squeeze her hand because you recognize the tone in her voice. That’s the one you use when talking about the loss of your childhood friend. She squeezes back. 

The music thuds away behind the closed door and you lay there looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars, listening to Clarke’s breathing, brushing your thumb over her knuckles and it feels spectacular too, just like kissing her, but in a different kind of way. She snuggles up to you, your arm under her neck and behind her shoulders, her arm resting across your waist and her nose finding that spot below you ear. It’s not lost on you that you feel significantly tethered to her in this moment, even more so than when you were stuck together in handcuffs. It’s not lost on you that you don’t want it any other way. 

She presses her lips gently, lazily against your neck and that’s the last thing you remember before falling asleep.


	6. Creep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The AU in which Clarke and Lexa are strangers on a train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week was a hard one and I needed something cute... so I wrote something cute.  
> It's easy and fluffy, and I hope it makes you smile a little, too. <3
> 
> Also, I'm challenging you to create your own Clexa Strangers On A Train art - [read more here if you want to join.](https://anonbemetoo.tumblr.com/post/159004844712/clexa-challenge) :)
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~anonbeme

### ONE.

It's raining buckets outside, water splashing furiously against the window, the sky dark and gloomy. It's a peculiar thing, Clarke thinks, because it happened all so suddenly. It hasn't been half an hour since she stepped onto this train, the morning sun bright in the sky and warmth kissing her skin. This doesn't look like a typical August day. At all. 

She taps her pencil against her chin wondering if it'll ease up before she reaches her destination or if she'll have to walk through the pouring rain without anything to fight off the water. She wonders if she'll have to enter her childhood home completely soaked only to be greeted by her mother's disapproving eyes and a _’You could've at least checked the weather forecast.’_ Well, only time will tell. There’s not much she can do about it now.

Clarke chews on the end of the pencil, studying the water trailing down the window, the long, irregular liquid lines randomly crawling along the glass. She’ll take a hot Summer's day by the lake any day, but she can't deny the beauty in front of her. Water makes a good motive for sketching; always unique, always so detailed. 

_’I'm twenty-seven, for crying out loud, I will not let my mother intimidate me like that.’_

She sighs, determinedly pressing the pencil against the page in her sketchbook. At least she has another hour or so on this train – a bubble in which she can sketch and ignore the real world outside – before all hell breaks lose. 

Her mother never really forgave her for dropping medicine for art. It still hurts, but not as much as the news of her mother marrying a new man. Marcus Kane. He's a decent man. He treats her mother with care and respect, and he treats Clarke as an adult – unlike her own mother. Clarke can't deny they both love each other, that Marcus is good for her.

But he's not her dad. 

Her eyes slide from the intricate lines in her sketchbook to the watch on her wrist – an old brown leather strap, not her style at all, and it doesn't even work anymore. It was her dad's and that's reason enough to wear it. It's all she has left of him. 

As the train slows down, she feels the soft rumbles from the breaks in her body. The raindrop trails morph from almost horizontal to vertical lines as the train halts completely. Clarke studies the platform on the other side of the glass, it's nearly empty except for a woman who closes her umbrella before stepping onto the train. Her slender figure and her dark wavy hair make for a nice detail against the raindrop trails, her form blurred by the water. Clarke takes a mental photo of it and stores it in her mind for a future sketch. Maybe. You never know. 

The train starts moving again and Clarke returns her attention to the sketchbook.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Clarke looks up at the woman who just spoke, polite green eyes looking back at her. It's the woman from the platform, the one whose slender figure would look good behind a filter of raindrops. It takes only a second for Clarke to decide that she'd be much better off as a main motive in a sketch, the contours of her face beautifully set. 

“Uhm, yes. I mean, no! It's free,” Clarke says. She curses herself for being a flustered mess. It's been a long time since a woman made a flustered mess of her. 

The woman smiles softly before sliding into the seat in front of Clarke. She places the wet umbrella on the floor below her seat before leaning back, looking out the window. 

Clarke tries her best to keep her eyes on her sketchbook. It's not easy. She's mesmerized by the way the raindrops slide towards the beautiful green eyes in front of her. It feels a little like they insist on pulling Clarke's eyes in that direction, as if to say, _’Look. Look! This is much nicer to look at.’_ Her shirt, a casual button-up in a blend of blues and greens, brings out her eyes; something the artist in Clarke can't help but appreciate. She's wearing a thin gold chain around her neck, a maple leaf pendant hanging from it. It's perfectly framed between the collars of her shirt, and Clarke can't help but notice how it points downwards–

_’No. Don’t go there.’_

Clarke blinks to force her eyes back onto her sketchbook. The raindrop patterns on the window long forgotten, she starts doodling again. The maple leaf pendant. The stranger in front of her. She doesn't realize it until the characteristic edge of her jaw appears in soft pencil strokes. Clarke bites her lip. Nervously. Thoughtfully. Then she closes her sketchbook silently, leaving the pencil on top, her eyes focused on the table that separates her from the woman. She’s afraid to look back up; she's afraid the woman saw the sketch.

She really doesn't want to be that creepy person that secretly sketches pretty girls on trains. 

“Don't stop.”

Clarke looks up to find green eyes upon her. The woman smiles softly at her, and Clarke doesn't know what to say, or, she doesn't remember how to speak. 

“The drawing,” she elaborates, nudging her head towards the closed sketchbook on the table. “You're talented. I don't mind.”

Clarke blushes by the realization that, yes, the woman did in fact notice she was sketching her. Really, Clarke usually isn't a flustered mess. It's becoming a bit of a problem already. 

Clarke clears her throat. “I'm sorry,” she starts, “I didn't mean to…” 

When Clarke trails off, not knowing how to finish that sentence, the woman smiles at her again. Clarke thinks she sees the hint of amusement in her eyes. 

“Can I see?” She asks. 

Clarke wants to say no because she's embarrassed having been caught in the act, but a part of her feels like she owes her this much. “It's not done,” she says, as she flips the sketchbook open to the page in mention. 

The woman’s eyes slide to the page as Clarke reveals it to her. She leans forward a bit, studying it, and Clarke is lost in the way the woman’s eyes widen, the way her lips part slightly, the way she brushes her chestnut hair behind one ear and then proceeds to run an index finger down the edge of the page. 

“Talent,” she says, tapping her finger twice against the paper. “You have an eye for details.”

“Thanks,” Clarke says, smiling timidly. She’s used to getting compliments on her art, but they’re usually from a selective audience, not from beautiful strangers on the train.

“You should finish it,” the woman says, meeting Clarke's eyes. She pushes the sketchbook back towards Clarke. “I'll go back to staring at the moody clouds, if it helps,” she says, a hint of a smirk on her lips.

Ignoring the flutter in her stomach, Clarke considers it for a while. She picks up the pencil in her left hand – her dominant hand – and twirls it between her fingers. She won't deny that she itches to finish it. She can't shake the feeling of being a creep, though, either. 

“I'm Lexa,” the woman says, holding out a hand. 

Lexa. Clarke wants to say it out loud. She wants to experience what it feels like rolling off her tongue, what it tastes like dancing on her lips. 

“Clarke,” she responds, accepting the handshake. 

“Clarke,” the woman says, as if she wants to experience the name on her tongue and isn’t afraid of chasing it. 

Clarke likes the sound of it, the way the warmth of the _a_ and the click of the _k_ rolls off her tongue. She grabs a little tighter around the pencil as she tries to hide the smile that pulls at the corners of her lips. 

The woman, Lexa, nods once, a smile forming on her lips, too. “Go on, then,” she says, before looking back out the window. 

Clarke studies her for a while, how her eyes doesn’t focus at all on what’s outside the window, how one corner of her lip keeps curling into a half smile. Clarke bites her lip, putting back down the sketchbook and the pencil. “I can't, I feel like a creep,” she says.

“As opposed to before when you thought I didn’t notice?” She challenges, lifting an amused eyebrow at Clarke.

Clarke blushes. Hard. The heat on her cheeks feels like an untamable fire. “I felt like a creep, then, too,” she confesses. “I didn’t realize I was doing it until it was too late.” 

Lexa chuckles and it makes Clarke’s stomach flutter, too. This is ridiculous. Where’s Confident Clarke at? It’s a woman, a random stranger on a train. Knowing she probably won’t ever see her again should make this a lot easier. The realization of this being an impromptu meeting that’ll end soon – a chance, simply the result of two strangers being at the same spot at the same time in history – makes Clarke’s stomach drop. To be honest, she wouldn’t be opposed to randomly bump into her again should fate grand her that gift once again. She’s friendly and has a nice smile, and she makes Clarke smile, too.

“Okay, give me a piece of paper and hand me that pencil,” Lexa says. 

Clarke raises a questioning eyebrow, searching Lexa's eyes for any clue as to what this is about. 

“Humor me,” Lexa says, dipping her chin slightly, looking at Clarke with wide, smiling eyes. 

Clarke keeps her eyes on her – still sizing her up, still not sure what this is about – as she pulls out the last page of her sketchbook and slides it towards Lexa along with the pencil. 

Lexa picks up the pencil with much more confidence than necessary for a situation like this, Clarke thinks. Lexa winks at her before bringing her attention to the page in front of her. She looks up again, as if studying Clarke's features, then back to the page as she starts drawing pencil strokes across the page. 

Still, way too much vigor. Clarke wonders for a split second if Lexa is an artist, too. She studies Lexa who bites her lip in concentration. A couple of times, she looks back up to study Clarke a bit more. Clarke is a little lost in the green eyes and the charming smile, she doesn't even consider looking at what happens on the paper. 

“There, done!” Lexa exclaims proudly, pulling Clarke out of her daydream. 

Clarke forces her eyes downwards to the page Lexa just put in front of her. It's a sketch of Clarke – she assumes – a few pencil strokes making up long strands of hair, eyes, ears, nose and a mouth. Pretty straightforward, not too far from a child's drawing. Still, Clarke can't help the laughter that erupts when she sees the word _creep_ above the sketch. It's signed _Lexa, the other creep_ in the bottom right corner. Lexa is still sporting a proud smile when Clarke looks back up at her. 

“We're even now, so back to work, Clarke,” she states matter-of-factly. 

“Okay,” Clarke chuckles, again itching to finish her sketch of Lexa. 

She flips open the sketchbook to the pencil strokes resembling the woman in front of her. Bringing the artist within back to life, she looks at Lexa with searching eyes, searching for the lines and curves that defines her. There’s a curl to her lips that weren't there when she first sat down. It looks good on her, Clarke thinks, and just like that, she's back in her bubble, blissfully ignoring the real world. 

Lexa looks content, sitting there, casually focused on the horizon. Clarke wonders what's on her mind, if she'd share it with her if she were to ask. She decides not to. Instead, she silently studies Lexa's features, bringing them alive on paper. 

Satisfied with the final result, she looks up at Lexa. It has stopped raining since the last time Clarke looked up, the sun fighting its way through clouds. Lexa is still enjoying the scenery floating by, warm golden colors making her skin glow. 

“It's done,” Clarke says. 

Lexa slowly meets her eyes, the green shimmering in the sunlight. Utterly stunning, Clarke thinks, almost forgetting how to breathe. 

When Lexa smiles at her, Clarke slides the sketchbook closer to her. Lexa slowly leans forward, her movements gentle and soft, a perfect fit under the newly arrived sunlight. 

“It's beautiful, Clarke,” Lexa whispers. 

“Keep it,” Clarke says.

“No, I couldn't…” She says, meeting Clarke's eyes. 

“Yes.” Clarke insists. She can tell by the way Lexa studies the drawing that she wants to remember how it looks like. She sees the awe behind it. Clarke has already memorized the contours of Lexa's face and could easily draw a new sketch, not something she wants to share with her. Instead, she looks at Lexa, keeps looking at her until she finally relents.

“Thank you,” she says. 

Clarke reaches for the sketchbook and signs the corner, _Clarke, The Creep_. She carefully rips out the page and hands it to Lexa who takes it with a soft smile on her lips. 

The chuckle escaping Lexa's lips as she reads the signature is worth all of it. 

“Oh, this is my stop,” Lexa says, looking out the window. 

Clarke’s heart drops as she watches Lexa pick up her umbrella and slides off her seat.

“Good thing it stopped raining,” she says. 

“I'll say, I only have this,” Clarke says, gesturing at the clothes she's wearing. 

“It was nice meeting you, Clarke,” Lexa says, as the train slows down. 

“May we meet again,” Clarke says, nodding once, a goodbye gesture. As Lexa turns around to get off the train, Clarke wonders if maybe she should've added her phone number on the sketch. 

Too late now, she thinks, as she watches Lexa's slender figure walk down the platform, an umbrella in one hand, Clarke's sketch in the other.

It tastes a little like regret, Clarke thinks. 

 

### TWO.

Tonight's sunset was a beautiful mix of purple and orange, a spectacular show to be watching while sitting on this godforsaken hard wooden bench waiting on the late train. Still, not the most stunning thing she'd witnessed today, Lexa thinks, tightening the grip on the paper scroll in her hand. She'd stolen an elastic band from her sister's kitchen drawer to make sure Clarke's drawing didn't take damage on the trip home.

Boy, did Anya scold her for not getting Clarke's number. 

The truth is, she didn't consider it until it was too late. It wasn't until she stepped onto the platform and the train doors shut behind her that it hit her; she may not ever see her again. 

With a beautiful souvenir in her hand, but no way to contact her, she’d walked down the platform with a heavy heart. 

It had tasted bittersweet. 

_’May we meet again.’_

If she ever does meet her again, she won't make that same mistake. Cross her heart. Pinky swear. Scout’s honor. All of that jazz. 

Lexa sighs. It's been a long day and she needs her bed. Forty minutes on a train seems like an eternity right now. 

As the train comes in, Lexa picks up the umbrella next to her and steps onto the train. She looks for an empty seat – most of them are as not many people ride the train at this hour. The pale electric light from the ceiling feels a little like a headache and she squints her eyes to better take in the details around her. 

“We meet again,” a familiar voice says. 

Lexa looks to her left and she feels her jaw slacken in disbelief. It's Clarke. She can't believe it, it's actually her. 

“Sit,” Clarke says, gesturing with a nod of the head towards the seat in front of her. 

Clarke smiles up at her and she feels a smile form on her own lips as she slides onto the seat on the other side of the table. 

“Did you just take the train back and forth?” Lexa asks her playfully. She hates herself a little for that being the first thing she says to Clarke after thinking she might not ever see her again. 

“I can see why you’d think that, but no,” Clarke chuckles. 

Lexa nods, pursing her lips. “Any new drawings?” 

“Not really,” Clarke sighs. “I lost my muse.” She adopts a tiny smirk onto her lips and Lexa feels a sudden urge to know everything there is to know about her. 

“Huh, what a shame. Well, you're in luck, Clarke, because I just found mine. Hand me another piece of paper?” Lexa says, leaning forward, a charming smile on her lips. She has forty minutes and they're not to be wasted 

Clarke rips out a blank sheet of paper from her sketchbook and hands it over, her pencil too, a grin on her lips. Lexa’s heart flutters by the realization that Clarke's blue eyes sparkle because of something she said. She hopes she gets the chance to make that happen again someday. 

“Alright, let's see,” Lexa says, biting her lip, deep in thought. 

She's not an artist. The sketch of Clarke she did earlier today could've been anyone, that's how bad it was. But it made Clarke smile, so it did what it was meant to do. 

No, she's not an artist, but she doesn't have to be. She draws a sun in one corner thinking of Clarke's golden hair. If she had a blue pencil, she'd color the sky the same shade as Clarke's eyes. Instead, she draws a couple of clouds, soft curves like Clarke's lips. She draws a house with a door, a window and a chimney and she wonders where Clarke's home is, how far or how close they live from each other. She draws a couple of trees thinking of her own home, the house Anya still lives in. She likes her tiny apartment in the city, but the family house with a big forest in the backyard is something Lexa won't ever grow tired of. 

She runs out of ideas to draw and looks back up at Clarke who's leaning forward, elbows on the table, her chin held up by a palm, an amused smile on her lips as she studies Lexa's drawing upside down. 

“Talent,” Clarke says, winking at Lexa when she meets her eyes. 

“Not the slightest,” Lexa laughs.

While Clarke looks at the drawing again, Lexa studies Clarke. The crease between her eyebrows, the way she bites the corner of her bottom lip, both clearly a sign of thinking hard.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Lexa says. 

“Well, I'm trying to figure out what or who your muse is,” Clarke says. 

“You,” Lexa says, waiting for Clarke to look back up at her. It takes Lexa's breath away when she does; Clarke's eyes a stunning blue, shining like stars at night. 

“Oh, really… How’s that?”

“Well, you remind me of a Summer’s day,” Lexa confesses, thinking honesty might win her a bit of points on the charm scale. 

Clarke grins at her but then says, “it was raining when you met me.” 

Lexa then raises an eyebrow before picking up the pencil again. “Fine, you'll get your little rain cloud,” she says, faux annoyance across her face as she draws a stick man figure next to the house and a tiny rain cloud over its head. 

“That's you,” Lexa says, pointing at the stick man figure. She then writes _creep_ next to it, which draws a bubbly laughter from Clarke's lips, a sound Lexa has already come to love. 

“Where are you?” Clarke asks. 

Lexa then starts drawing again, another stick man figure next to the trees. “I'm over here enjoying the sun,” she says.

“You like trees,” Clarke then says, not really a statement, more like a wondering out loud. 

“I grew up next to a forest.”

“Maple trees?” 

“No.” Lexa smiles knowing that Clarke is asking because of her necklace. “But there's a big old maple tree in the backyard,” she elaborates, surprising herself because she usually doesn't talk about her childhood with anyone. It reminds her of her best friend, her first love – the neighbor's daughter – who gave her the necklace. She died in a drowning accident nine years ago, and Lexa still misses her. It's still hard to visit Anya in their family home and have to see the tree in the backyard being reminded what life took from her. 

It's bittersweet. 

That tree is the center of some of her fondest memories. 

“I want a dog,” Clarke says, pulling Lexa out of her thoughts.

When Lexa looks at her, she can't help the smile spreading on her lips. Clarke looks adorable when she pouts, and Lexa wonders if she'll ever experience Clarke manipulating her into giving her things like this again. 

“I can't draw a dog,” Lexa says. Mostly to poke at Clarke a little, and it works, because Clarke’s pout grows bigger. 

“”Okay, okay,” Lexa sighs, drawing a weird doodle next to herself. 

“Wait, why is he all the way over there?”

“He?” Lexa raises an eyebrow. 

“Rex,” Clarke says matter-of-factly. 

“Well, Rex is all the way over here with me because he hates the rain,” Lexa grins cheekily at Clarke. “We're playing fetch,” she says, drawing another doodle next to the Rex doodle. “That's a stick I just threw.”

Clarke snorts, then throws a hand over her mouth. Lexa thinks an embarrassed Clarke is adorable too. 

They spend the next twenty minutes adding things to Lexa's drawing. Lexa wants a tree house. Clarke wants stars in the sky, and Lexa argues that _’it's in the middle of the day, Clarke’_ , but Clarke shoots down Lexa's rationale with a dismissive _’pfft’_. Lexa wants flowers _’because they're pretty, Clarke’_. Clarke wants a second floor on the house _’to all the kids, Lexa’_. 

Lexa likes the world they're building, and for a fragment of a second she allows herself to consider it could happen, that she could have this world, well, maybe not _this_ version, but one that brings her a little bit of magic in the form of a buzzing warmth in her heart. Clarke looks at her and it looks like possibilities. 

Eventually, Lexa's stop is coming up, so she signs the drawing with her name and her phone number. 

“I don't know where you live, but if the distance isn't a problem, I'd love to see you again,” Lexa says. Her sister would be proud of her. 

Based on the wide smile on Clarke's lips, Lexa guesses she wants that too. 

The train slows to a halt and Lexa gets up, umbrella and scrolled up drawing in hands. “Take care of that masterpiece for me,” she says, nodding towards her Summer’s day with Clarke. 

“I will. I might even frame it,” Clarke grins, and it makes Lexa's heart flutter. 

“Get home safe, Clarke.”

“You too, Lexa.”

They share a soft smile before Lexa gets off the train. She strolls down empty streets towards her apartment looking up into the night sky. Not only does Clarke remind her of a Summer's day; she reminds her of sparkling stars at night, too.


	7. Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke sits under an old oak tree doing a charcoal sketch of her favorite soccer player.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you!  
> Here's a little experiment on a Tuesday. It's short, but I hope you like it anyways.
> 
> The writing style for this one is a bit different from what I usually do (I'm trying out something here, bare with me), so uh, if something doesn't make sense, please do tell me <3
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~anonbeme

An old oak tree stands tall not far from the soccer field. Clarke sits cross-legged in its regal shadow. A lower lip prisoner between teeth and thoughts crinkling her forehead, Clarke studies the sketchbook resting in her lap. Clarke’s index finger tiptoes along the edges of the page, a criticizing eye studies her work, the flawless contours of the human body, the depths of light and dark shades overlapping. 

Charcoal strokes resemble a female soccer player dribbling her way around an opponent. Her movements are skillful, effortless. Her eyes are playfully calculating how best to approach the task ahead. Her smile is confident, and the letters on her back – light against a dark canvas – are carried with pride: Heda. 

Heda is finesse in its finest form. Muscles flexing under sweaty skin, outstretched arms to defy gravity. It is a ballet of elegant ball control and agile sprinting as Heda maneuvers towards the goalie. Her superiority manifests itself in a swift motion as she stops the ball with barely a toe, twirling to pull it around the goalie to send it towards its inevitable destination. 

Heda is adroitness in a modest sense. Offering the goalie a hand to get back up on her feet, then gives her a respectful nod and a grateful smile. It is only then that she runs back to her teammate to honor her assist in a camaraderie hug. A great leader cannot be without her people’s loyalty, and loyalty is granted where the path is shown and trust is given.

The referee whistles end of game and Heda’s troops march on, undefeated. Clarke watches as Heda goes to thank the other team captain for a great play before joining her own in a celebratory group hug. Afterplay traditions usually take a while, so Clarke returns to her charcoal replica of her favorite soccer player to brush up on details with a skilled hand. 

Someone takes a seat next to Clarke, shoulder brushing against shoulder. She looks up from her sketchbook to find smiley eyes, fresh cheeks and soft lips look at her. 

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.”

“You made it.” 

“I did,” Clarke nods, reciprocating her smile. “Nice goal, Heda.”

“I dedicate it to my favorite charcoal-drawing cheerleader.” Lexa leans in, her chin resting on Clarke’s shoulder, to sneak a peek at the sketch. She points to the ponytail. “I like this detail, it looks like I’m running really fast.”

“You are,” Clarke agrees, leaning her head against Lexa’s. 

“Mh… and this too. Do my muscles really look like that?” 

“They do.” 

“Don’t think so…” Lexa says shifting to investigate her calf muscles with her fingertips. “Maybe in your head,” Lexa says, earning an airy chuckle from Clarke.

Clarke waits for Lexa to meet her eyes again. “Hey,” she whispers. 

“Hey back,” Lexa leans in for a kiss as soft as Clarke’s voice. “How did it go?”

Clarke shrugs. 

“Bad news?”

“Not bad, just… not good news. The doctors say it's too risky, I could end up blind.” 

Lexa observes Clarke’s sunken shoulders, the way she avoids eye contact. She swallows hard before saying, “so, status quo?”

“Status quo,” Clarke sighs.

“I love you just the same, Clarke.”

“I know,” Clarke gives her a sad smile. “Which is why I love you too. It just sucks. I wish I could see the world like you.”

“The world is not the same to any two people. This, for instance,” Lexa points to the sketch, “I look so strong and fearless. That’s how you see me. I wish I saw myself like that too.”

“You _are_ strong, Lex,” Clarke says.

“Not always. I like to pretend I am. It’s easy out there,” Lexa nudges her head towards the now empty soccer field. “My team makes me strong. _You_ make me strong. On my own? Not so much. I am a weakling when left to my own devices.”

Clarke shakes her head, Lexa nods hers. 

Clarke sighs and rolls her eyes, Lexa smiles. 

“My weakling,” Clarke breathes whimsically.

“Your weakling,” Lexa nods once.

Running a hand through the grass, Clarke studies its lines and curves and pointy ends, how it tickles the palm of her hand. She lifts her fingers to her nose only to find fresh traces of Summer.

Lexa’s eyes soften. She reaches to take Clarke’s hand, presses a kiss against her knuckles before entwining their fingers. “Your eyes are the color of the sky,” she says, “of clarity, of serenity and of endless opportunities.”

Looking up onto the canvas above her, Clarke finds fluffy edges that form clouds, and there’s a single trail left behind by an airplane. The sky is bright against the silhouetted crown of the old oak tree. 

Making sure to keep her eyes on Clarke, Lexa gives her hand a squeeze. “Your hair is the color of the sun, it’s warm and vibrant and full of life.”

Clarke’s eyelashes flutter. Once. Twice. She looks from the sky and back to her sketchbook. Taking in a deep breath, she pushes her hair back behind one ear before meeting Lexa’s eyes.

“This grass needs oxygen and light to grow and to thrive,” Lexa says. 

“And soil and water,” Clarke adds to the list, a hint of a smirk on her lips.

“I get plenty of that on the field,” Lexa grins.

Clarke nods, already lost in thought. “Persistent in growth, smells really nice, soft to land on and... aesthetically pleasing,” Clarke wonders out loud. She ends her thought with a definitive nod. 

Curiosity paints Lexa’s irises, love paints her smile.

“Grass,” Clarke explains matter-of-factly. “The color of your eyes.”

Lexa raises an eyebrow in question, amusement dancing in the corners of her lips.

“Shut up, I’m terrible with words, you know that,” Clarke pouts dramatically. “Colors too.”

“Come here,” Lexa chuckles, smiling into a kiss. 

Lexa’s lips taste of salt, her forehead is sticky from sweat. Clarke leans into her, eyes pressed shut and charcoal covered fingers clinging to Lexa's jersey. 

“Clarke?”

“Mhm?”

“I'd give you my colors if I could.”

“You already have.”


	8. Strangers By The Ocean AU - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did Clarke and Lexa find their shoes on the beach the day after?
> 
> OR
> 
> The 2nd installment to Strangers By The Ocean AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.  
> Here's the 2nd installment of a clexa verse I hold very dear. Ever since i wrote the first part I've wanted to answer the question: did Clarke and Lexa ever find their shoes on the beach?  
> Here's my take on it <3
> 
> (I wrote the 1st installment six months ago, and my writing style has changed a lot since then... so my apologies if it rubs you the wrong way.)
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~anonbeme
> 
> Ps. [ Click here for Part One](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9487367/chapters/21621374) \- (it's chapter two of this ao3 work).

# Strangers By The Ocean

## Part Two

It seems the morning sun shines a little bit brighter today. A tad too bright for your liking as it forces you to squint. With a hand you shade your eyes as you look straight ahead. The sky is a clear blue, the awakening sun painting it brighter by the minute. Foaming waves beat a rhythm against the shore, fresh and daring. The high-pitched squeals of a seagull reaches your ears. The smell of washed up seaweed pokes at your nose. 

It’s a fine day. 

The sand is cool against your bare feet, finding its way in between your toes. The ocean breeze is playing with the loose strands of hair at your neck. 

There's a smile on your lips. 

There’s a soft hand in yours, fingers entwining. 

It's a fine day, indeed. 

“Well, that settles it,” Lexa says, her words carried by an amused matter-of-factness. 

Under the blinding sun, you stop at a respectable distance from the water’s edge. You'd tease Lexa for her obvious fear of getting her feet wet if it wasn't for the sight before you. 

One shoe. 

One of Lexa's shoes. The ocean must have stolen the rest at some point with only the moon as its witness. 

You look from the lonely sand-covered white sneaker to the girl next to you. Her smile is more blinding than the sun, and it grows wider the more you frown. 

“We're going home barefoot,” Lexa elaborates. 

She makes it sound like a magical adventure.You can't lie. It excites you. Still, you liked those shoes. They were nice, and your feet felt comfortably at home in them. There's no time for mourning as Lexa starts tugging at your hand. She guides you down the shore, focused eyes searching for something in the sand. 

“I want to kiss you,” she explains when you ask her what she's doing. Only when she stops to pick up a flat oval stone do you realize what she's doing. 

Lexa weighs the stone in her hand, flips it a few times. She hasn't even thrown it yet, and she's already celebrating with a winning smile. “Same rules?” She asks.

“Six or more,” you confirm. 

“Alright.”

In an instant, concentration settles on her face. It was too dark to see last night, but the morning sun allows you to admire its entirety now. There's a hint of a furrow between her eyes as she bites at her upper lip, and just before she swings her arm backwards, one corner of her mouth curls up into a smile. 

She counts out loud. 

Eight. 

Entranced by this beautiful creature, you forget to watch the stone. It’s okay, because you get to see victory overtake her face. Winning suits her, and you don't ever want to take that away from her. 

She walks up to you. It's obvious that she tries to apply smugness in her steps, but the excitement of her impressive eight skips shine significantly brighter. The playful child inside her wins the fight, and it reaches your heart when she picks you up and twirls you around. Her lips find yours as your toes find their way back to the sand. It's a shame you have to go home. You wouldn't mind it if you'd stayed in bed all day. Or, just stayed right here kissing Lexa all day. Yeah, that would do, too. You kind of like how your heart expands with warmth every time she kisses you. It's addictive in the best of ways. 

“We should go back,” Lexa murmurs. 

“We should stay.”

“Our plane leaves in three hours.”

“Ignore it.”

You snuggle into the crook of her neck, your nose finding her warm skin, and her arms wrap around your torso with affection. Her silent laughter is a soft tremble in her chest that resonates with your heart. 

“That would be nice,” she whispers into your hair. 

Lexa allows you to enjoy this frozen moment for a while. You don't know for how long, but you're sure it's longer than your time schedule allows. As a thank you, you press a kiss to the edge of her jaw. 

“Okay, I'm ready,” you say. You don't really mean it, but it doesn't matter because her hand finds yours again, and she doesn't let go until you're back in her hotel room to pick up her luggage.

°*°

The arrival hall of Polis Airport is spacious and bright, the buzzing of many voices present. You feel alienated, wishing you were still on the beach. Your beach. You and Lexa's.

In this hall, you and Lexa stand side by side at the conveyor belt waiting for your luggage. You feel small under the gaze of strangers. Your fingers are entwined, but that's not why people are staring. Lexa leans in to kiss you, and that's not why they're staring either. 

“You feet are cute, ignore them,” Lexa murmurs.

The soft laughter that bubbles in her lungs when you give her a pointed look is worth it all. The thing is, you're barefooted for her. Maybe also because you kind of like this magical adventure she has taken you on. 

You haven't told her you have an extra pair of shoes in your luggage. 

You may never tell her. 

Not if she keeps looking at you like this: like you're the only person in the room. 

Which you aren't – obviously – but it feels like it. 

Neither of you move when people start to huddle around the conveyor belts. You don't have any reason to hurry; perhaps Lexa doesn't have one either. 

“Oh, there's mine,” Lexa says, still not letting go of your hand as she steps forward. 

You’re not sure what makes you smile more. The fact that she’s so soccer gay cliché that she travels in a sports bag – and is comfortably confident about it – or the fact that she refuses to let go of your hand. Or maybe it's the way she spots your bulky metal blue suitcase long before you do and carelessly drops her own to the floor to grab yours – still not letting go of your hand. 

She even pulls up the handle for you before offering it to you with a brilliant smile. 

“Such a gentlewoman,” you say. Your wink earns you a theatrical bow, outstretched arm and all. 

Hand in hand and barefooted, you walk through the airport. And yes, people look, but you don't care because Lexa is holding your hand and it feels a lot like she doesn't want to let go. 

You don't want to let go either. 

“So,” Lexa says, swinging your hands gently back and forth. 

“So,” you repeat, looking at her. 

She slows down and meets your gaze. You're standing twenty feet from the escalator that will take you to the train platform. 

“I…” She says, then sighs. 

You wish you could freeze time. Not just because you want to stay here with her, but because the softness in her eyes deserves to be studied and memorized, and then immortalized as art. You do your best to burn it in your mind. For later. 

“You…” You mimic her, and she smiles timidly at you. 

Her sports bag hits the floor yet again, and she steps forward, both her hands finding their way to your cheeks. Her eyelashes flutter just before she pulls you in, and you don't care if people are staring now, because Lexa is kissing you and it’s even greater than your first kiss. It's the familiarity of her soft lips against yours, and the way she leans into you as you slide an arm around her waist. 

“It's not goodbye,” you tell her when she pulls back. 

“I know,” she says, “but Saturday is really far away.”

It is. Six days away, to be exact. 

“I'll be the one in the stands cheering the loudest,” you tell her. 

She chuckles. “I can't believe you're coming to watch me play. Do you even know the rules?”

“Pfft. How hard can it be? You run, you kick the ball, you score. Easy.”

She shakes her head, a sheepish curl of her lips. “I'm sorry I doubted you,” she says, leaning in for another kiss. 

It morphs into a hug, both your arms holding on tight, your suitcase abandoned somewhere on the floor. “Thank you,” you whisper into the crook of her neck. 

“What for?”

“You made me forget,” you say. 

“Clarke,” she whispers, leaning back to catch your eyes.

You don't even realize you're crying until she brushes tears off your cheeks with her thumbs. “They're happy tears,” you tell her, because she needs to know. Well, _you_ need her to know. 

“You made me forget too,” she says and presses her lips against your forehead. “Now,hurry, go to your train before I take you with me.” 

“That doesn't sound too bad,” you say, wet chuckles. 

“I know,” she sighs. She takes a step back, picks up her bag and slings it across her torso. “Text me when you're home safe?”

“Of course.” 

You grab the handle of your suitcase, share another smile with her, and then you walk towards the escalator. As you descend onto the platform, sharp edges of escalator metal cold against your bare feet, you feel light, like you're flying. 

Hopefully, those six days will be flying past too.


	9. What This Darkness Must Witness (prompt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clarke has a panic attack in her sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a tiny one, a prompt I received on Tumblr a while ago.  
> Feel free to prompt me too <3

## What This Darkness Must Witness.

What pulls her out of her sleep is the rustling of sheets. It’s a jittery restlessness, limbs without direction, a hand smacking her in the face, and sometimes, a knee jabbing her in the thigh. It’s the shaking body next to her and the ragged breathing.

It’s the “n-no… n-no, no” muffled into a pillow next to her; it’s the fear in her wife’s voice, the one that cuts through marrow and bone.

It’s not the first time.

Blinded by the darkness of their bedroom, Lexa shifts to envelop Clarke’s body in her arms. It’s best if Lexa spoons Clarke from behind, and sometimes it’s a struggle because Clarke’s is really strong and not at all cooperative in her sleeping state.

“Clarke, I’m here, it’s okay,” Lexa hushes as she wrestles with panic-stricken arms for control.

Soon Lexa will have Clarke’s torso in a tight grip, pressed up against her own chest,

And soon, Clarke will wake up from another nightmare of someone pushing her off a ledge, or a balcony, or some other vantage point high up. She’ll scream herself awake as she’s free falling, plummeting towards a merciless ground that’s still too far away to see, and when she does, Lexa will be holding her close, whispering comforting words into the night until it’s the only thing Clarke knows.

It’s not the first time.

“Clarke, you’re okay. I love you and you’re okay,” Lexa whispers, and when Clarke starts hyperventilating, Lexa knows she’s fully awake and consciously panicking.

This is the worst part; the time it takes Clarke to realize she’s safe. This is the part that shatters Lexa’s heart.

“This is our bedroom,” Lexa murmurs. “You’re safe. You’re in our bed… In my arms.” Lexa proves the truth of her words with a gentle squeeze of her arms around Clarke’s torso.

“I love you, Clarke,” Lexa continues and presses her lips against Clarke’s shoulder. “Do you feel my arms around you?”

“Yes,” Clarke breathes, barely a whisper, her hands gripping tight around Lexa’s arms, her eyes squeezing shut to rid herself of the nightmare still flashing behind her eyelids.

“Is it too tight?”

Clarke’s breathing is shallow, no longer hyperventilating, as she shakes her head. “No.”

“Okay. That’s good. Tell me what you see.”

“Two fourteen.”

“What’s that?” Lexa says, pretending she doesn’t know that Clarke is now looking at the illuminated red numbers on the alarm clock next to their bed. She needs Clarke to stay focused on what’s real.

Clarke doesn’t answer. Instead she taps with fingertips against Lexa’s arm, letting Lexa know she’s okay, that she’s back. When Lexa releases her hold, Clarke twists in her arms and buries her tear-stricken cheeks in Lexa’s chest as the pent-up anxiety slowly dissolves.

Lexa runs soothing fingers through Clarke’s hair and rubs calmness into her spine until Clarke’s breath is moist, but slow and steady against Lexa’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Clarke mumbles.

“Anytime,” Lexa presses her lips against a sweaty forehead, letting them linger there until her lungs demand fresh air.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m quite fond of holding you in my arms,” Lexa murmurs through a lazy yawn.

“Sleep, Lex, I’m okay now.”

“ _You_ sleep. I’m not tired.”

“Lex.”

“Clarke.”

“Stubborn.”

“Bossy.”

Clarke sighs, snuggling closer to her wife, and Lexa shifts to make better room as she wraps her arms around her wife once again.

 _I love you’s_ are being murmured, and Lexa insists on staying awake, persistence in her arms, comfort on her lips, and an ache in her heart that’ll subside but never fully disappear.

It’s not the first time.

As Clarke’s breathing evens out, her muscles twitching in that half-asleep limbo, Lexa allows for her own unfallen tears to be soaked up by her pillow and for a shaky breath to escape into the night.

It not the last time either.


	10. Q (prompt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> Clarke goes to see Lexa the day after the fight with Roan. She just wants to make sure Lexa's alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is vaguely based on a prompt I received on Tumblr.
> 
> It's not canon (I can't write canon – I'm broken, I think). But hopefully it brings a smile to your face.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~anonbeme

# Q

 

 

There's a knock on the door. 

Lexa sighs, getting up off her nest of self-pity on the couch thinking, _oh god, this is not happening._ She takes a deep breath, steels her spine, lifts her chin before opening the door. Lexa is a confident young woman, but it all crumbles the second the door swings open and Clarke's smile grows into a smirk. 

“Shut up,” Lexa says. 

“I didn't say anything,” Clarke feigns innocence, only able to hold back her grin for barely a second. 

Lexa sigh, looking at the ceiling, then back at Clarke. “Go ahead. Get it out of your system.”

“No, I swear, I don't–Well, I was just thinking what a shame I didn't bring my wooden leg.” 

No. Oh no no no. 

Sassy Clarke is gorgeous, keeps Lexa on her toes, but right now Lexa is tired and sore, and has negative dignity to her name, so Sassy Clarke can shove it. 

Lexa closes the door again, but her hand lingers on the doorknob while she listens to Clarke's bright laughter exploding in the stairwell. It brings a fond smile to her lips, one that morphs into the best scowling glare she can muster as she pulls the door open again.

“I'm sorry, Lex, I’m sorry” Clarke hurries to say, doing a terrible job holding back her amusement. “It’s just… You should have told me. I could have brought a bottle of rum.”

“God,” Lexa mutters, as she gives the door a push that’s hard enough to tell Clarke she’s not funny at all, but not harder than Clarke should be able to stop it from shutting. 

Lexa trudges back to the couch and slides under the blanket again, back turned to her chuckling girlfriend who is approaching her with an energy Lexa is too tired to deal with right now.

“Hey,” Clarke murmurs, sliding under the blanket behind Lexa. “I love you.”

When a warm arm slides around Lexa’s waist, and soft lips press against her shoulder, Lexa melts and sighs. “I love you too,” she mutters, still grumpy, but maybe not so much as before.

“Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not.”

“You kind of are.”

Lexa sighs, pushing the side of her face that doesn’t hurt into the pillow. “No.”

“Want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Okay.” 

Lexa can feel Clarke’s smile press against her shoulder blade as Clarke shifts, getting more comfortable behind her. And yes, Lexa is a little bit mad, but it’s not Clarke’s fault that Lexa is in a foul mood. And yes, it is undeniably magical when Clarke is here wrapped around her with warmth and love despite Lexa having told Clarke she didn't feel well and needed to be alone. 

“Lex?”

“Yeah?”

“What happened?”

There’s silence while Lexa contemplates how long she’s able to keep the story to herself, because saying it out loud makes it real, and it's a little bit embarrassing. But when Clarke kisses her shoulder again, she sighs, giving in. “Scrabble.”

“Scrabble?”

“Scrabble.”

“How does one end up with an eye patch playing scrabble?”

“Clarke,” Lexa whines into the pillow, because Clarke is clearly having too much fun.

“Lex,” Clarke grins. “You’ll tell me sooner or later anyways.”

“Fine,” Lexa huffs, shifting onto her back, loving how Clarke’s lips instantly find her jaw, and how a thumb begins to brush circles on her stomach. “We played scrabble, all the cousins, and you know how Roan and I...”

“You provoke each other.”

“Well… Yes. And he was winning, he was practically hanging from the chandelier, all cocky and… you know how he gets, right?”

“Right.”

“Right, so… I wrote quiz on a triple word score, and you should see his face when he realized he was losing,” Lexa says, grinning as she remembers the very second he froze in his seat, his eyes widened with realization. “And you know me.”

“What did you do?” Clarke says, fully entitled to the accusative tone in her voice, having witnessed more ridiculous fights between the two cousins than one lifetime should hold.

“I may have gloated a bit.”

“Did you do the winner dance?”

Lexa scoffs. “Did you not hear me say he was practically hanging from the chandelier? Of course I did the winner dance.” 

“Lex,” Clarke sighs.

“It was magnificent,” Lexa says with a proud grin. 

“I’m sure it was. So…”

“So?” Lexa asks innocently, knowing full well what Clarke wants to hear, but hoping she’d forgotten all about it.

“So…” Clarke draws out the o impatiently. “Eye patch, Lex. What happened?”

“Roan threw the Q tile at me and hit me square in the eye.”

“He… What?” Clarke props herself up on an elbow and looks at Lexa who’s biting her lip like a kid who knows she did something wrong.

“Yeah, I spent a good three hours in a waiting room at the ER last night only to get this stupid….” Lexa sighs, shaking her head. She looks at Clarke, and a grin forms on her lips. “You should see the other guy.”

“Lex,” Clarke sighs. “What did you do.”

Lexa shrugs. “I threw the tile holder after him... “

“Lex,” Clarke sighs again, “and?”

“And… I may have broken his nose.”

Clarke groans, dropping her head back onto the pillow next to Lexa. Silence fills the void, and Lexa snuggles closer to Clarke, careful not to press her eye against Clarke’s shoulder. She yawns and pulls Clarke closer by the waist.

“How bad is it?” Clarke murmurs, her fingers playing with the tips of Lexa’s hair.

“Not so bad. No damage. Just tired.” Lexa yawns again. “And I’ll be extremely light sensitive for a couple of days.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Mhno, just cuddles,” Lexa mumbles sleepily.

“Cuddles?”

“Mhyeah, and kisses.”

“I think I can do that,” Clarke says, smiling warmly at Lexa who’s already half asleep. She presses a kiss against Lexa’s hair and Lexa responds by pressing lazy lips against thin air.

“An’m’laundry,” Lexa mumbles.

Clarke chuckles. “No.”

“Okay,” Lexa breathes, barely a sound, and it’s no more than ten seconds before her body melts into sleep in Clarke’s arms.


	11. Sixty Beats Per Minute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: a clexa soulmate AU. 
> 
> Summary: Clarke's soul timer approaches 00:00 but she's stuck in an elevator...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt:_   
>  _can you do a clexa soulmate AU? like the one with the wrist timers? add only a little bit of angst if you do cause i need more clexa fluff_
> 
> **  
> I've been contemplating this prompt for a long time because I didn't know how to do the fluff without at least some suspension...  
> Alas, here it is.
> 
> Enjoy <3  
> ~anonbeme

## Sixty Beats Per Minute

 

There is a clonk from beneath Clarke's feet, and the floor shakes momentarily before it moves to a halt.

_What? No. No! No no no nono._

Clarke presses herself against the wall of the elevator, sweaty palms and rigid spine. The counter above the door no longer counts down its descend; instead there is an out of order symbol blinking alarmingly. 

_No… This can’t be happening. Not today!?_

Clarke feels the panic rise, and she closes her eyes to focus on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. It has little effect, and when she catches sight of the alarm button, she reaches over to press it. 

Nothing happens.

She presses it again. Nothing. She punches it with a growl and then slides into a sitting position. 

_Shit!_

Clarke pulls up the sleeve of her favorite shirt and runs a thumb over her wrist. The glowing numbers under the skin pulsates to a rhythm that perfectly matches seconds tick by. Sixty beats per minute – Clarke is certain of this because she checked. 

_22:00_

For a long time the soul timer showed two numbers that barely ever changed: in time she learned that these were years and months. The sixty beats per minute pulse was always there as a reminder that time passed, always glowing enough to be seen through a white shirt, always there to bring her peace of mind.

_21:00_

A month ago, Clarke woke up only to find that _00:01_ had become _30:08_ , and Clarke’s heart almost stopped beating. At first she thought it had started over, but she soon learned that the countdown went faster. In thirty days and eight hours and an insignificant number of minutes and seconds Clarke would meet her soulmate. 

_20:00_

She felt it forty minutes ago. It tickled under her skin, and when she looked, she saw the counter disappear for a moment as _00:01_ morphed into _59:59_. Clarke had stared at it, watched with awestruck eyes as the seconds ticked away. _58...57...56...55…_ She had stared at it until the counter showed _58:59_. 

Then sense had come to her. 

In less than an hour, she would meet her soulmate, her other half to complete her existence. With a racing heart, she had hurried to take a shower, to get dressed and to run out the door. She had no idea where to go, but she figured no matter which direction she took, it would lead her directly to her soulmate.

That was before she stepped into the elevator.

_19:00_

There is nowhere to go.

The elevator light flickers, and with a zapping noise it is sucked into darkness. Clarke holds her breath, eyes clinging to the pulsating glow on her wrist. It takes forty-five seconds until the emergency light kicks in – a dull orange glow from the button panel – Clarke knows because she counted.

_17:45_

_17:44_

_17:43_

“Hello?” A voice calls, muffled by the thick metal doors. 

Clarke looks in its direction and wonders if maybe she was imagining it.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Uh, yes. Hello?” Clarke calls back, already on her feet, hands pressed against the cold metal. 

“Hi, hello. Uhm… Look, you’re stuck on the fourth floor and I already called the technician. Are you okay?” The voice behind the door is female, and something about it calms Clarke down.

“Yes,” Clarke says, her face so close to the door that she feels the moisture of her own breath. 

“Okay, good. That’s… good.”

_16:05_

“No.” Clarke says, not even trying to hide the sadness in her voice.

“No?”

“No… I’m not okay.”

“Oh. Is it… Are you claustrophobic?”

“No. I, uhm… I have somewhere important to be very soon,” Clarke says, squeezing her eyes shut to hold the tears at bay. “And I’m stuck here.”

“Oh…” the voice says. “Look, I’m sure the technician will arrive soon. She said five minutes.”

Clarke looks at her wrist. 

_14:10_

“Okay?” The voice asks.

“Uhm yeah,” Clarke forces out. “Okay.”

“If I leave for two minutes, will you be okay? I will go look for the technician.”

“Sure,” Clarke says. She leans her forehead against the door, and as her skin touches the cold metal, she realizes she’s sweating. _Will_ she be okay? She is stuck here, there is not much else to do but wait. 

So Clarke waits. 

She presses her forehead hard against the door, then she pushes herself off of it and takes a seat against the opposite wall. She wedges her hands under her thighs as to not look at her wrist all the time. Part of her wishes for the impossible: that the wrist will pause its countdown until the doors open.

It is more than two minutes before the voice returns. Clarke does not need to look at her timer to know. She wonders if it has reached zero yet, and if that means she missed her shot. She wonders, when it does reach zero and she has not met her soulmate, does she get a second chance? Will the countdown start over? Will it be another twenty-seven years before she meets her other half?

What if the counter freezes on 00:00 and Clarke will have to continue onwards with her life, alone and incomplete?

Has this ever happened to anyone before?

Clarke sighs, and the shakiness in her breath scares her. Clarke is not okay. The walls of the elevator seems to lean in on her. Maybe she _is_ claustrophobic.

“Hello?” The new voice is also female. “Are you there?”

“Yes. I’m here,” Clarke calls.

“Alright. So, my guy in the control room says he’s done rebooting the system, which means the lights will come on inside the elevator very soon, and when that happens, the elevator will move to the closest floor – which should be this one – and you’ll be able to exit. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Will you let me know when the light comes on?”

As if on cue, the orange emergency light fades out and the bright lamp in the ceiling flickers twice before coming on. The brightness forces Clarke to scrunch up her eyes.

“It just did,” Clarke says, slowly getting back up on her feet. Her eyes catch sight of the timer, the glowing pulse feeding her hope.

_04:21_

Maybe there is still time. 

There is a whirring sound somewhere above the elevator, and a clonk from below, and then the elevator starts moving – Clarke cannot tell if it is up or down. It is barely a moment before it stops again, and Clarke wants to cry. 

“What happened?” The first voice asks. The one that makes Clarke feel calm.

The second voice hums thoughtfully. It answers the first, but not loud enough – or maybe too fast – for Clarke to hear. 

“Sit tight, alright?” The second voice calls through the door. “We need another reboot for the doors to wanna open. Give me a couple of minutes, and I will get you out of there.” A pause. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” Clarke says. 

_02:04_

Clarke feels the hope of getting out of the elevator in time dissipate. Even if the doors were to open in time, there is no way she will be able to exit the building in time, not even to crash into a stranger on the sidewalk. 

Clarke stumbles backwards until her back hits the wall, she feels herself slide to the floor. Her vision becomes blurry, and she feels wetness crawl down her cheeks.

Glowing seconds tick by on her wrist. Never has time moved so slow and so fast at once. It feels like a million heartbeats are born by each second, and it feels like there are not enough seconds in the world to make room for all the feelings Clarke experiences right now. 

She mourns the loss of her soulmate.

She hates herself for believing she would actually find her other half.

_00:47_

“What's your name?” Someone asks through the door. 

“Clarke,” she responds, the lack of emotion in her voice makes her wince. It was not supposed to be like this. 

“Well, Clarke. My name is Raven, and I'm the bringer of good news. Any second now you'll see a green button flash on the panel, and when that happens, press it and the doors will open. Okay?”

“Okay,” Clarke says, wiping her cheeks dry with the palm of her hands. She does not want anyone to see her like this, broken and lost. 

_00:35_

The button flashes. It is round and it glows in the same rhythm as her soul timer. Clarke counts five flashes before she picks herself up again. Her body is heavy, and it takes effort she does not feel like putting into it as she straightens up and walks over to the panel. The button is warm under her thumb, and she takes a deep breath, refusing to look at her wrist before pressing the button. Her eyes are glued to her thumb as she hears the doors slide open. 

“That's a job well done, I'd say,” Raven says. 

“Thank you, Reyes. I owe you for making this a priority.” 

“Anything for you, Woods. Wifey will have my head on a platter if I don't treat her sister like my own family.”

“Anya isn't like that.”

“Yeah she is.”

“Yeah she is,” the calm voice chuckles. 

The playful banter between the two startles Clarke out of her haze. She looks at them just in time to see them share a smile.

It is only a fragment of time before Clarke finds herself staring into green eyes. They are soft like the voice that calmed her down as she was stuck in the elevator. Clarke feels drawn to them, and before she knows it, her feet are pulling her out of the elevator and towards the owner. She stops five feet away.

“Hello, Clarke. My name is Lexa and I believe you've been expecting me,” she says. 

The green eyes express so much vulnerability that Clarke feels bad for what comes out of her mouth. “What?” 

At that, Lexa lifts her arm to show Clarke the inside of her wrist, and Clarke's eyes widen as she reads _00:00_. Her eyes fleet to her own wrist which reads the same. 

“It's you?” Clarke whispers, half questioning, half disbelieving. 

“I'm certain of it,” Lexa says. Her smile is careful as she motions for Clarke to take her hand.

Clarke knows that even the smallest touch will confirm if it is true. Her father has told her many times of how the world seemed brighter the second he touched his soulmate – her mother. But she hesitates taking Lexa's hand because she is afraid to learn they are not soulmates.

What if she is meant to be incomplete for the rest of her life? What if–

“Clarke?” Lexa looks at her with concerned eyes, and there is a flicker of _something_ Clarke cannot name that convinces her to take a chance. After all, she has nothing to lose and everything to gain. 

So Clarke takes Lexa's hand, lets it hover in the air for a second before placing it in Lexa's. And as palm touches palm, Clarke finally understands what her dad was saying. The world brightens like the sun breaking free on a cloudy day, and Clarke is already in love with the golden freckles in Lexa's green eyes. 

A wave of emotion washes over Clarke, and as to not get knocked over, Clarke steps forward and wraps her arms around Lexa. And when Lexa's arms encircle Clarke's shoulders, Clarke knows that this is the only home she will ever know. 

“I found you,” Clarke whispers as she buries her nose in the crook of Lexa's neck. 

“Finally.” Lexa tightens her arms around Clarke and presses a barely there kiss to Clarke's hair. “Finally,” she repeats.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments you might have, gimme <3


End file.
